


Where There's a Wish

by Leeayre



Series: Persona Verse [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Superboy (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Persona, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bullies, Conner can't stop hitting on Tim, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Misunderstandings, Murder, Robin is Tim's Persona, Sharing bodies, Tim doesn't need help, creepy roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 71,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leeayre/pseuds/Leeayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being Robin’s vessel is hard enough: the exhaustion, the life-threatening late night activities, the bruises and bullet holes and broken bones. Trying to hide all that from his incredibly suspicious, incredibly hot new roommate while maintaining his studies and placating his parents? Tim has never had it so hard. Especially since said roommate doesn’t actually know he’s Superboy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> Persona: the mask or façade presented to satisfy the demands of the situation or the environment and not representing the inner personality of the individual. —dictionary.com

Tim pulled an armload of books from his neatly packed suitcase, the weight a welcome promise of the changes the upcoming year would bring. Despite the sharp corners of hardbacks digging into his arms and chest, he stood there for a minute, taking in the fresh, clean canvas of the empty room with its dual desks, beds, and bookshelves. The promise of a significant donation towards the science division had made him the sole occupant of the corner room on the highest floor of Totley Hall when he’d asked—the one with the dual windows looking out into the heart of the city. It was one of the few times his family’s wealth had been beneficial. Totley wasn’t the newest dormitory on campus, but that just meant the windows hadn’t yet been replaced with the pop-out kind designed to prevent accidents. They still opened completely. He’d be able to get out whenever he needed.

“Isn’t this better?” Tim’s grip on the books tightened with his excitement, and he pivoted a little to take it all in again—to let _someone else_ take it all in. “We’ll be so much closer to the people who need us.”

“ _Response time will be faster_ ,” Robin agreed, pleased, and the sudden voice in the otherwise empty room would have startled anyone else, if they’d been capable of hearing it. Anyone but Tim, who’d long since grown used to it, along with the other peculiarities that came with accommodating a Persona.

“The room also comes with a complimentary city view,” Tim replied, glancing back toward the windows and the dusk-colored darkness slowly settling over the city, unable to keep the self-satisfaction out of his voice. Things had turned out well. Contrary to his parents’ belief, Tim’s choice to attend a private academy wasn’t due to its offered extracurriculars or its prestige or habit of turning out accomplished youths. It had been largely due to the increased efficiency the school promised for their nightly activities. But if the choice placated his parents as well, all the better. Anyway, they weren’t the only ones unapprised of his true objectives. “And it only gets better.”

Dean Nederlander thought he wanted the room for the view and the privacy. Well, that assumption wasn’t entirely incorrect.

“ _It’s all ours_ ,” Robin preempted him, sounding more than a little amused by his vessel’s excitement.

“It’s all ours,” Tim agreed. The extra bed, desk, and closet would go unused this year, just the way they wanted.

Tim had always valued some measure of privacy, but since inheriting Robin, it had become almost imperative. A roommate would have hindered their ability to come and go undetected, would notice how little time they actually spent in their room at night, and would have too many opportunities to detect other peculiarities.

“This is going to be a great year,” Tim decided aloud, heading toward the desk with his armload of books.

“ _As long as someone doesn’t see us_ ,” Robin muttered, sounding half distracted, like he was already on the lookout for students sneaking out past curfew.

The only disadvantage of their decision to go to Brentwood was the large number of people milling about. The Drake residence had been too far removed from the heart of the city and the dirty, blackened streets that called to them, but it _had_ had spacious grounds and high hedges and no one around for miles to see Robin come and go from Tim Drake’s bedroom window every night. Brentwood was different. It was risky.

As endearing as it was that Robin worried about him though, it wasn’t practical.

“The curfew will dissuade most people, the pines lining the edge of campus block any view from the street beyond, and if we have any problems we can find places outside of campus to switch. It’ll be fine.”

“ _You’re my top priority, Tim. If anything happens to you_ —”

“You’d find someone else.” He hadn’t been the first Robin, and as much as he didn’t like to think about it, he was certain he wouldn’t be the last. Robin wasn’t limited in options for vessels. Tim had resigned himself to that truth ages ago. “You’d be fine.” Robin made a disgruntled noise.

“ _You make it sound like I picked you out of the bulk bin at the supermarket_.”

“There _are_ lots of people in the city.” He carefully transferred some of the books in his arms to the shelf, busying himself with putting them in order so he wouldn’t have to think about anything else too hard, wouldn’t have to think about how Robin would someday belong to someone else.

Robin apparently took offense to his cavalier attitude, because at that point his body abruptly turned and started marching toward the dresser, making him drop the rest of the books in a heap on the floor.

“Hey!” Tim protested, but he didn’t fight it the way he could have. Over the years he’d minded Robin’s control less and less, until the little oddities that came with being a vessel were almost second nature. They’d been working on this anyway, sharing control at the same time, coordinating movements.

“ _I want you to see_ …” Robin smacked their hands down on top of the dresser so they were facing into the mirror, so Tim was facing _himself_ , coal-black hair brushed back, eyes narrowed in mild annoyance. He knew _exactly_ how he looked, how each crafted expression and tilt of his head would make him appear, and how and when to use them all to keep the people he interacted with from figuring out about Robin. This was nothing new.

He pressed his lips together impatiently.

“ _Don’t think for a second that you’re just my means of flitting around the city at night_ ,” Robin continued, reaching Tim’s hand out to run reverently over their reflection in the mirror. “ _You need to know, I_ —”

The vibrant, shrill shriek of sirens along the street below jerked Tim’s attention toward the windows. The sun had almost set, its light winking out somewhere behind the jut of dark, monolithic skyscrapers. The dusk-darkened city glowed with its own light though: a thousand streetlights flickering in the gloom, and somewhat closer, maybe a couple blocks north and much more importantly, hazardous orange flames had sprung up, belching clouds of bloodstained smoke.

“Robin?” The books they’d dropped on the ground earlier were instantly forgotten.

“ _I see it_.” Tim didn’t even make it to the window before Robin took over. It was a breathless rush this time, the weight of Kevlar and cape and costume layering over him all at once out of nowhere. When they weren’t in a hurry, Robin could be almost artsy about it, appearing almost like an invisible paintbrush stroking leather over Tim’s skin until the strokes bled together protectively. Today though, the Persona’s entire focus was on the lives burning out several blocks north, and everything was functional only, no time spared. Robin’s green gloves pushed up the pane of glass a second later, freeing them to the night and the desperate cries for help always on the edge of hearing.

* * *

 Conner adjusted the strap of his bag over his right shoulder, neck craning this way and that, taking in the stately halls of the third floor of his dorm.

“And back in the nineties…” Jason Bromorton, his upperclassman guide, was keeping up a commentary on the dorm’s historical significance, listing important campus events in which it had played a key role. Conner had long since drowned it out. He’d already learned everything he needed from the chatter in the first two minutes. Apparently Totley Hall was a historical landmark, which was just another way of saying it was old, the pipes would probably make clunking noises at night, and heating would be a nightmare.

It was one more checkbox on the long list of reasons he really didn’t want to be here.

And it was as he thought this that his guide came to a stop in front of an imposingly solid wood door, the last one of the hall.

“Ah, here we are.” Jason rapped smartly on the lacquered wood barrier before them. “You’ll be sharing your room with a classmate. He moved in yesterday.”

Conner eyed the door dubiously. This was the hole to which he’d been relegated for the next year, this lacquer-covered heart of darkness, with some rich, snooty, jerk of a—

The door opened then, and Conner’s thoughts derailed with a crash, because well, if he had to be holed up here, miles from home, at least there were perks. Like his new roommate.

“ _Hellooo, Sexy_ ,” Conner thought. The boy peering breathlessly out from behind the solid wood door was obviously a little surprised by the visit, eyes inquisitively wide, one cuff still unbuttoned and feathery black hair in disarray. He was wearing only the black slacks and white dress shirt of the school uniform, buttons left undone roguishly at his collar in his haste. The slacks hugged his hips well enough that Conner could see how slimly he was built—nothing spared—and how perfectly he’d fit into his arms.

“What’s going on?” Mm-Sexy-Roommate’s eyes slid questioningly from Jason over to Conner only to crinkle slightly in wary perplexity at the sight of him, and Conner realized he’d been openly staring. He quickly fought his wolfish smile into something more tame and appropriate for a first meeting. It would be a waste to scare his roommate off before he even knew his name.

“I’m Conner.” He held out his hand, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but the other boy only raised one dark eyebrow.

“Tim, this is your new roommate,” Jason explained, pushing through the open door and into the room proper. Conner, not put off in the least, immediately took up a chant of “Tim, Tim, Tim” in his head, memorizing all the ways he could say it, all the positions they could be in while he whispered it into the delicate curve of his companion’s ear, the way it would roll off his tongue, low and hot, when he finally had the other boy molded into his arms. Caught up as he was, he missed the way Tim’s surprise at the intrusion quickly turned into a frown, unhappiness pinning instantly to Conner. He didn’t miss the displeasure in the words that followed though.

“I think there’s been some mistake,” Tim said curtly. “I don’t have a roommate.” The pointed remark poked a hole in Conner’s daydream, and his chant of “Tim, Tim, Tim” wheezed out with a sound like a dying harmonica. He was certain he could have gotten Tim to change his mind about wanting a roommate given half a chance, but the other boy’s hard blue eyes seemed to say he knew exactly where the mistake was standing, and Conner frowned back defensively.

“If you don’t like it, take it up with Dean Nederlander,” Jason replied dismissively, obviously used to complaints.

“Oh, I will,” Tim replied with the kind of determined pleasantness that promised bankruptcy and economic ruin, and made Conner almost feel sorry for the man. Jason had already turned away though, and the sharp corners of Tim’s smile glanced off him.

“Your key.” He held it out for Conner, waiting for him to take it. “Don’t lose it. It’s an eighty-dollar fee to replace it. Classes start tomorrow, and…” he looked back and forth between them briefly, “good luck.” With that parting remark, he sauntered out of the room, leaving Conner to deal with the full force of his new roommate’s unhappiness.

In the wake of Jason’s departure though, Tim’s annoyed frown looked more exhausted than anything, and he ran a frustrated hand through his disarrayed hair with a yawn. Conner forced his gaze away from the open V of his roommate’s shirt to eye him askance. He was pretty sure it was almost noon.

“Did you just wake up?”

“I had a late night.” Maybe Tim thought he meant it derisively, but whatever the case, Tim’s tone made it clear the subject was closed. His lips thinned at the question, and whatever lapse had made him look tired and vulnerable for a minute was instantly gone. Deliberately, he started buttoning his shirt up the rest of the way. And well, if that was the way it was going to be…

Conner dumped his duffle bag on the unclaimed bed and headed for the adjoining bathroom, already needing some space.

“Don’t touch my stuff!” Tim shouted after him.

“Likewise,” Conner huffed, closing the door a little more forcefully than necessary. Seriously, what was Tim’s problem? He could feel some of the tension leave his shoulders as the view of his roommate was cut off with a muffled bang. Then he turned around.

In retrospect, he’d known to expect the bathroom would be full of his roommate’s things, but somehow that didn’t prepare him for _seeing_ them sitting there all smug. The medicine cabinet behind the mirror was especially full of mouthwash and deodorant and assorted other hygiene products. Conner refrained from braining himself and glared instead at the pristine red toothbrush resting on the sink like it was the sole cause of his problems.

Even Tim’s toothbrush was sexy, all sleek curved lines and bold design. It was definitely mocking him.  

“I see you’re aligned with the enemy,” he told it. “I don’t think we’re gonna get along.”

It was for the best that he had the next couple minutes to vent his frustration in relative peace.

When he came back out a few minutes later, he started in on the mostly calm, reasonable speech he’d prepared in his head before the door was even all the way open.

“We’re going to have to share the bathroom space, so if you could move a few of— Are you listening to me?” Tim was staring at the wall, still frowning a little, and nodding absently like it was a great conversation partner. Better, apparently, than Conner. Which was honestly the rudest thing Conner had seen and almost made him march back in and get the enemy toothbrush just so he could throw it in his roommate’s face. He crossed his arms instead, glaring. Finally, after a few seconds had passed, Tim blinked.

“Sorry?”

 _Un_ believable.

Conner turned his back on the other boy with one final glare, only to attack his duffle bag with ticked-off ferocity, jerking shirts and pants out onto his bed into a haphazard pile.

So much for his hope that Brentwood wouldn’t be as bad as its namesake seemed to suggest, full of stuck-up rich kids, because it was official.

Conner’s roommate was a jerk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I try to be as accurate as possible, I did move Brentwood to the city, I stole classmates from multiple different places and still had to make up a couple more to fill some holes, and Tim is a little older than when he actually went to Brentwood in the comics. Also, a confession: the only thing I know about Superboy is what I've seen of him in Tim's comics, so he's probably a little out of character. He seemed to be a bit arrogant and a bit of a player when I first met him, so that's how Tim first meets him here too.
> 
> There have been a lot of High School AUs floating around lately. Here's my addition to it.
> 
> Thanks to All Seer for being my beta.


	2. All the Wrong Impressions

Tim could almost hear Robin’s “I told you so” as they made their way back from Nederlander’s office, manifested in the brooding silence in his own head. The Persona was probably trying to plot a way around their newfound problem, and Tim knew better than to take it personally.

“Well, it was supposed to be a private room,” Tim offered apologetically, briefly closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the disaster the morning had been. Nederlander wasn’t budging, Tim really ought to apologize to Conner since it wasn’t his fault he was making Tim’s life fifty times more difficult, and now he had to find an excuse for getting out every night without tipping the guy off. His plans were unraveling left and right and school hadn’t even started yet!

“ _Maybe the dean is harboring some unscrupulous Persona_ ,” Robin suggested hopefully, stirred from his brooding gloom by the prospect.

“You _are an unscrupulous Persona_ ,” Tim responded teasingly.

“ _I have nothing but your own wishes at heart_ ,” Robin reminded him smugly, and that was a little too true. Tim made a mental note to stop hoping all annoying authority figures were secretly aligned with the forces of evil so could he zip tie them to their own desk.

Distracted by the search for a solution to his problems and the silent conversation in his own head, Tim ran smack into the back of the student in front of him.

“Watch it!” The guy was almost as built as Conner, but blond to Conner’s bold black, and he wore Brentwood’s blue varsity jacket with Ranck in bright chenille on the back.

“Sorry,” Tim apologized quickly and glanced at the cursive scrawl on the front left flap of Mr. Ranck’s jacket as he turned around, “Karl.” It had been his fault anyway, and it never hurt to mitigate blame quickly. “We must be in the same class.” At least the graduation year on Karl’s jacket was the same as his. He held out his hand. “I’m Tim.” Karl ignored the gesture though, scowl fading as his eyes ran along the lines of Tim’s uniform appreciatively.

“Well, if it isn’t the rich boy from the third floor, the one who _bought_ the corner room…”

“ _That story got around about as fast as intended_ ,” Robin noted.

“ _Yay_ ,” Tim replied dryly. He was used to unwanted attention, but usually the kind that attached itself to him at parties with too sharp smiles and tried to flatter him out of his reservations about its character.  

“Too bad all that money didn’t come with manners.” Aaaaand Karl wasn’t alone. In fact, now that Tim was looking past the bulk of the man in front of him, he could see several other students in matching blue varsity jackets. A Lance and Steve blocked his view of two others.

“Who needs manners when you look like _that?_ ” Lance whistled appreciatively. “I’d bend that over my back fender any day.”

“ _Oh look_ ,” Robin quipped, “ _stupidity comes in matching sets_.”

“ _This day just keeps getting better_.”

“I don’t know, Lance.” His buddy nudged him, grinning. “I’m not sure you could afford a ride that sweet.”

“ _Depends on how many broken fingers he considers a deterrent_ ,” Robin replied sweetly. Tim’s right hand twitched, trying to curl into a fist—Robin, protecting his vessel—and Tim forcefully flattened it, fingers splayed against the wall behind him. He didn’t need Robin to deal with this.

“ _No, they aren’t worth it_.”

“ _They are if they_ touch _you_.”

“It’s all in the _technique_ ,” Lance replied, one hand pushing his jacket back lewdly behind his hip as if in demonstration. Someone hooted behind him.

“What do you say?” Karl was smiling toothily now. He leaned forward, bracing his elbow on the wall beside Tim’s head, close enough to smell his mouthwash. “Think my buddy could show you a few things?”

Tim stared back steely, not impressed.

“I think you and your friends should stay away from me.”

“Tough luck, Lance,” someone laughed. It might have been Steve. Tim didn’t have a good view with Karl so close, blocking out half the hallway. “Looks like you need a little less _technique_ and better lines.” He _could_ see Lance and the chagrined expression he adopted, but Karl was still leaning over Tim, practically boxing him in.

“Or just the right _hand_.” He reached out, thumb and index finger hooking around Tim’s chin.

Tim fought to keep Robin’s bring-it grin off his face, fought to hide how much every _part_ of him would prefer to just have it out, to make this physical, and instead bent the curve of his lips into something still a little sharp but appropriately wide for Drake Industries’ heir.

“Get your hands off me.”

The door to Tim’s right was the office of one of the professors, and if Karl decided to try anything, it was going to end very, very quickly.

Karl frowned, grip tightening just the slightest bit, but before he could say anything…  

“It can’t be _Timothy Drake!_ ”

Karl pulled away, glancing up at the source of the interruption. Tim watched him a second longer, turning belatedly to face the two fellow classmates strolling toward them down the hall. Unlike Karl though, these two he’d been expecting.

Kip Ketterling and Buzz Cohen stopped in front of him, Buzz more loose and relaxed while Kip’s uniform was immaculate, lines sharp and buttons perfectly in place, but both impeccably presentable. Kip was the one who’d called out, teeth as perfect as his suit, grinning like they’d been best friends since birth when they’d really only met occasionally at Wayne’s galas. As they approached, Buzz raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between Karl and Tim with interest.

“Oh? What’s this?”

“I just bumped into my friend, Karl, here.” Tim adopted false cheer, mental plan changing in favor of removing the two new additions to their little hallway gathering from trouble. It was too bad, because Karl didn’t seem like the kind to drop their confrontation easily, and Tim would rather have had it out now than deal with the problem again later.

Kip eyed Karl sharply, like he might be worth something if Tim said so, and that wasn’t going to go anywhere good fast. Luckily, Karl’s buddies were already turning away, and Tim put an arm around Buzz’s shoulder, cheerfully leading him and Kip in the opposite direction and straight into the more torturous waters of corporate maneuvering.

Even as he laughed at something Kip said though, he was waving desperate mental flags.

“ _Please tell me Gotham is in imminent danger of being destroyed by a supervillain_.”

Robin only laughed.

“ _Sorry, nothing serious enough to necessitate an immediate escape_.”

Tim groaned. “ _Where’s a good villain when I actually need one?_ ” He was going to regret wishing for that later. At the time, classes hadn’t even started, he was already making all the wrong friends, and the only bright part of the entire day was the oncoming night.

* * *

As it turned out, he didn’t get a chance to start over with Conner that night either. He passed the other boy just outside Totley Hall. Conner was holding the door open for one of the girls who’d just taken up occupancy on the first floor that morning, the picture of dorky chivalrousness. He didn’t even so much as glance at Tim as they passed, letting the door swing closed behind them, apparently still irritated from earlier.

“ _He’s fast_ ,” Robin remarked mildly, impressed, as the door closed seconds before Tim could catch it.

“ _Apparently_ ,” Tim replied, pulling the door open with a little more force than necessary after having just missed it. “ _That works out though_ ,” he reminded himself, and he had to take a bit of a breath, because it was stupid to be irritated over something like a door in his face, especially when he’d inadvertently initiated it by being rude in the first place. “ _It just means his attention won’t be on us tonight_.”

“ _Maybe he won’t be as big of a problem as we thought_ ,” Robin agreed.

Roommate ditched, it was remarkably easy to duck out into the night later, no excuse needed. The day’s difficulties always drifted away at night, wrapped up in Robin’s protective layers. He could focus on the cries of others, and tonight in particular, focus on keeping his feet.

The winds that howled around the tops of the inner city’s skyscrapers were usually fierce, but tonight they were vicious even at street level, rattling catwalks and plastering paper and other detritus against storm drains. All along the sidewalks, people kept their heads down, bracing against the torrent and huddling into their coats. One particularly strong gust caught Robin just as he landed on a rooftop, dragging him backward several feet by his cape. He vanished it instantly, but not before one of his feet went over the edge, dragging him down, and he scrambled to get a grip for a second, finally catching at the crumbling brick.

“That was close,” he breathed, glancing down at the street below.

“ _I know you had it handled_ ,” Tim replied, seeing the distance, “ _but for future reference, blown off a roof is not the way I want to go out_.”

“Yeah.” Robin grinned as they swung back up onto the roof. “That’d be embarrassing. How would I ever face Batman afterward?” But the shrill shriek of twisting metal tore his attention to a large billboard sign, ripping away from its foundation and dangling by a single bolted strut. On the sidewalk below, several late night pedestrians exiting a movie theater stared upward in horror, attention caught by the noise. One young couple in particular stood frozen directly beneath it.

Before he could even finish processing the problem, Robin was dashing forward, sticking like a shadow to the wall connecting his roof to the next roof one terrace up . There was a coiled line in his utility belt, in hand with barely a thought. He threw it, snagging it on a metal strut, and hurried to tie it off. It wouldn’t hold forever, not in this wind and not with the full weight of the billboard—it was already vibrating with the stress—but he just needed to buy a few minutes. He’d just tied it off and turned toward the street, ready to dive to the aid of the frozen couple below when a black and red blur beat him to it.

Robin almost continued the dive anyway, wind and momentum nearly pushing him off the roof, but he caught himself expertly last second, stilling on the edge in favor of surveying the new situation.

“ _What was that?_ ” Tim asked, attention riveted to the scene below where the blur had already stopped. It hovered several feet above the couple now standing a safer distance down the street, checking on them, and Tim could easily make out details now: wind tousled black hair, blue jeans, a black shirt with a red shield, and a grin. “ _Is that…?_ ”

“Superboy,” Robin finished, observing the new Persona critically even as he withdrew from the edge of the roof, stepping back into a little recess in the wall behind them, draping them in shadows. He crouched down, weight of his cape solidifying once again on his shoulders. The ends dragged back and forth across the ground, blown about by little eddies the wall on his left didn’t quite block.

Below them, Superboy saluted the young couple he’d saved and flew up to take on the damaged billboard. Robin quickly vanished the line he’d used to tie it down, letting the other Persona take on the weight and the credit, and pressed himself a little farther back into the shadows. Superboy only tore the sign from its last remaining bolt and hefted it into the air though.

“ _What is he doing here?_ ” Tim asked. It was a silent question, the kind only Robin could appreciate, but for whatever reason, despite the raging wind and engagement with a certain sign, Superboy’s blue eyes had riveted suddenly to the spot where Robin crouched, observing from the safety of shadows. The other vigilante dropped the billboard safely back on top of the roof before raising an eyebrow at him.

“ _Let’s find out_.” Reluctantly, Robin straightened slowly from his crouch under the weight of that keen blue gaze. Then, considerately, he stepped halfway out of his hiding spot, just enough that the wind’s claws raked icily over his suit again, but not enough to be visible to the people below. Next time he’d remember how good the other Persona’s hearing was. For now though, this was a confrontation he wanted to make on his feet.

“Robin?” Superboy hovered at the edge of the roof, casually effortless in the air, feet never quite touching down. He took in Robin’s silently cloaked form, a scrutinizing perusal from mask to boots, and tilted his head in disapproval. “You should look into getting a new vessel, this one’s kind of scrawny,” he pointed out, as though Robin might not be aware of this fact.

The already unhappy line of Robin’s mouth turned down into a decided frown. He resisted the urge to tug his cape farther around his shoulders, to hide the lines of Tim’s body from someone who couldn’t appreciate how fine they were. He had nothing to hide.

“ _Can I batarang him?_ ” Tim asked.

“ _It wouldn’t help_.”

“ _I don’t know, I think It would make a_ point.”

“Thank you for your help, Superboy,” Robin replied icily, a dangerous little cant to his head, and if Superboy had any sense, he’d have been backing up. “You think I can’t choose an adequate vessel?”

“I _meant_ he could get hurt in this line of work,” Superboy replied.

“So then you think I can’t protect him?” Robin folded his arms.

“ _We did almost fall off a roof earlier_ ,” Tim pointed out. Superboy, of course, couldn’t hear him, had no way of knowing Robin’s vessel wasn’t just some kid caught up in their world, rendered safely unconscious under Robin’s care. And _that_ was a secret Robin didn’t intend to share.

No one else needed to know how valuable Tim was.

“No!” Superboy scowled defensively. “I just don’t understand why you’d choose someone who makes your job more difficult. Anyway, you probably didn’t have much to choose from.” He looked around at the smog-shrouded darkness dubiously. “I’m not surprised Gotham can’t grow any decent vessels in _this_ gloom.”

“ _I dare him to tell that to Batman_.”

“There’s a sunnier city one over,” Robin suggested straight-faced. “You know, _not_ in Gotham.” But Superboy just waved the suggestion away.

“Can’t. Luckily for you, I’ll be staying here for awhile. My vessel is attending school in the area.”

“ _We’re stuck with him?_ ” Tim asked, dismayed. “ _And what does he mean…_ ”

“Luckily for me?” Robin repeated flatly.

“Yeah. You obviously need more help. After all, that couple was almost a couple _sandwich_.”

Robin wasn’t one for the public eye. He avoided cameras whenever possible, content to stick to the shadows and let Superboy get the press and the credit for the save. The couple _had_ been saved, after all, that was what mattered. But to stand there and listen to Superboy tell him he couldn’t have dealt with a problem in his own city—a problem he had had contained, thank you very much, before a certain flashy interruption—without the other vigilante’s help?

 _That_ he found offensive.

Robin turned on his heel, back to Superboy, and headed determinedly for the opposite side of the building. He didn’t have to stand there and take insults.

“Hey, where are you going?” Superboy was just suddenly in front of him, blocking his way, looking incredulous at having been dismissed, like Robin had been the rude one.

Robin’s lips pressed together harder for a second. “My job here is done. I’m leaving.” Silently, he reminded himself that he did _not_ have to kick Superboy off the roof to be taken seriously. It was alright if the other Persona underestimated him.

Superboy opened his mouth, but at that moment a spotlight swung suddenly onto his hovering form, cameras and onlookers turning toward him like flowers to the sun. People were pointing. Phones snapped pictures. Superboy turned to look down at them, smiling brilliantly, and Robin used the distraction to drop over the opposite side of the building and into the safer shadows, out of sight. Superboy might have bathed in the spotlight, but Robin wanted none of it, and right just then he wanted none of Superboy either. Neither of them did—Tim was just as much in agreement.

It wasn’t so easy to shake the memory though. The encounter stayed with them, dogging them—one more problem to deal with on an already dark night. Robin was still muttering about it several blocks later.

“He comes here, he insults my city, he insults you…” The Persona trailed off into silent brooding, and Tim had rarely seen him so annoyed. Perhaps the most frustrating thing was that Superboy’s comment hadn’t been entirely unfounded. There were definitely times Robin’s job would have been easier if Tim had been stronger, more physically intimidating. Did the Persona ever wish he’d been able to find someone more like that?

It wasn’t until several blocks later, as they were passing through a rooftop garden—one of Tim’s favorites to frequent—that Tim finally broke the silence.  

“ _Look, Robin, I know I’m not_ —”

“No,” Robin cut him off before he could even finish the thought, stopping beneath the sheltering branches of a maple, leaves tossed turbulently above them by the wind. A lush layer of grass cushioned their footfalls, and the darkened windows of the few taller skyscrapers shouldering close around them reflected back only the night and each other. It wasn’t the same as privacy but it was a good illusion of it. “You’re perfect.” And because they shared everything, Tim could feel the way Robin’s features softened into something reverent when he said it, the same way he could feel Robin’s hand was on his face, thumb hooking under his jaw line, green-gloved fingers tapping at his lower lip, catching at his attention.

The touch was gentle, different from the demanding, selfish hold of certain varsity members that morning—a safer, more familiar interest. If he could have leaned into it—if he’d had enough control—he would have. But still…

“ _There were better vessels you could have chosen_.” Heaven knew he was short even compared to the other boys his age, the toned muscle hard won, and Robin was… unique, not specifically his Wish, but the combined Wish of the city’s inhabitants. The Persona could have chosen anyone.

Robin made a disparaging noise, pressing harder now on Tim’s lips as though to hush him, and pushing back against the trunk of the maple tree moodily. Tim could feel the craggy bark catch at his hair and dig a little into his scalp.

“Look at yourself,” the Persona demanded suddenly. The layers of Kevlar and leather that were all Robin stripped off him abruptly, and Tim gasped, left all at once half bare and shivering in the biting wind. The abrupt exposure was a little breathtaking, a little risky on a wide-open rooftop. But the leafy branches hanging above them were concealing, and the rows of well trimmed hedges marching away on either side cut off most views from the darkened windows of nearby office buildings. There was no one to see them.

The pressure on his lips changed then, pushing down, forcing his mouth open a little, the “ _You like this_ ” going unsaid, unnecessary when Robin could feel his responses as well as he could. The gloves were still on his hands, he realized, and there were swaths of red and green leather still gripping his hips. His feet were bare though, arches curled against the tickle of grass.  

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone like you?” Robin continued. They were sliding a little down the trunk, the bark catching on the cotton of his thin T-shirt, which offered no protection against the wind anyway, and rucking it up. “Someone willing to run into the fire instead of calling the police.” The fingers pressing promisingly down on Tim’s lower lip pushed into his mouth suddenly, Robin pushing his point home, and Tim could taste the city’s grit on them: dirt and oil and ash. It was the same taste he associated with running the rooftops, blood hot under his skin, chasing down thugs, the night wrapping tight around him, around _them_. It was everything he loved, and he moaned, trying to pull Robin’s fingers—his _own_ fingers—farther into his mouth with the scant control he’d been given. Robin only withdrew them when he tried though, back to a ghosting along his lips, only felt when he spoke. “Someone willing to take the bullet to protect the victim.” The fingers returned, deeper this time, punctuating each of Robin’s points, and Tim took them, accepted them as truth. “Someone who wants to do something about the problem instead of expecting someone else to do it.” This time Robin pushed his fingers into Tim’s mouth agonizingly slowly, dragging them over his tongue, deep enough to make his eyes water. Tim’s moan was deeper this time, especially when they didn’t withdraw, holding there.

“ _Someone brave, and smart, and resourceful_ ,” Robin finished in a whisper, switching over to their more common mental dialogue to speak. They’d slid completely to the ground Tim realized, semi-deliriously. It was just as well, because he thought his knees might have buckled by then otherwise.

There were things Tim wanted to say, wispy pieces of counterarguments and exceptions that were hard to hang onto just then, and the obstruction in his mouth didn’t really prevent him from voicing them.

“ _But_ —” he tried, only to have Robin push his fingers in a hair farther warningly. Reluctantly he let the fingers do their job and swallowed down his protests instead, mouth constricting around the intrusion.

“ _I don’t have to tell you there are different ways to solve problems._ ” Robin’s free hand stroked slowly down the faint contour of his sternum. “ _Superboy and I differ on how we go about it._ ” Between the faint swells of his abs. “ _His style is to attack problems head on, while I prefer to work around the problem and wait for an… opening_.”  Caught on the edge of his boxers, down low over his hips, and traced experimentally along the edge of the impediment. Tim sucked in air around the intrusion in his mouth expectantly.

“ _Yes!_ ” he cried, replying to Robin’s words, to _everything_ , wanting desperately to rock his hips up—hips still irrefutably caught in swaths of leather.

“ _You are_ not _limiting me_.” This statement was punctuated by a curl of fingers in his mouth, against his tongue and teeth. “ _You are everything I need, just the way you are_.” And by the push of Robin’s hand beneath his waistband, down between his legs. And Tim believed him. Believed in the fingers curling around him.

“ _I need you like this, Tim_.”

“ _Mm_ ,” Tim moaned, digging his bare feet into the earth and letting the prickly grass squish between his toes and tickle his heels. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the perfect circle of beauty bark at the base of the maple tree, laving the rough underside of Robin’s gloves where they covered his fingers. He sucked them further into his mouth, coating them with saliva, and moaned wordlessly around the intrusion while Robin’s other hand stroked him lazily.

It was Gotham, and there wasn’t moonlight, and it wasn’t beautiful or even warm, but he never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay there, caught between the biting scrape of the wind and the fever heat under his skin, hips caught in Robin’s grip. He felt like he was burning.

But the sound of gunshots and Robin suddenly stilling had him groaning, wanting to linger in the rapidly dissipating bliss, knowing he couldn’t. He banged his head back against the tree, grimacing, eyes crushed tight.

“ _I’m going to kill them_ ,” he muttered plaintively.

“ _Tim, I_ —” Robin sounded frustrated, torn, and Tim understood. He did.

“ _It’s_ — _Agh_ —” He struggled for a moment to reorient his priorities, shake off the pleasant haze and disappointment, because he thought Robin might _stay_ if he asked him to, and that wasn’t an option. “ _It’s okay_ ,” he finally managed. “ _Go_.”

Just that quickly the heavy layers of Robin’s physical manifestation were wrapped around him again, hugging him tight, maybe just a little tighter than usual. A lingering reminder.

When they found the muggers responsible, Robin managed to restrain himself from taking out painful levels of frustration on them, hanging them upside down from a lamppost by their own belt buckles as punishment instead. It was the most uncomfortable position he could think of on short notice. They were still whining about it when he turned away.

“You can’t leave us like this!” and “Tie us up properly!”

Robin ignored them, more concerned with Tim’s opinion.

“ _Even?_ ” he asked, pleased with his handiwork as he vanished back into the shadows, grin widening at the desperate, _miserable_ shouts for mercy behind him.

“ _It’s a start_ ,” Tim replied, mostly mollified.

* * *

By the end of patrol, the conversation had somehow wound back around to their Super problem—a discussion that continued even as they returned to Totley Hall.

“ _He’s arrogant and obnoxious and his costume is a shirt and jeans_ ,” Tim finished, vastly unimpressed.

“Among other things,” Robin acknowledged distractedly, quickly looking around for students out after curfew before pushing up their window and swinging them inside with the kind of easy grace that had taken them awhile to master, the same kind Tim sometimes had to remember _not_ to use in public.

“ _And he’s staying_ all year.”

“He’s going to be a problem,” Robin agreed. More than they knew.

The familiar darkness of their shared room closed around them, still strangely vacant of any body in the adjoining bed. Robin took in the empty room, and especially the empty jumble of blankets where their roommate should have been, frowning.

“He’s still not back,” Robin muttered, moving farther into the room as though expecting to find Conner’s unconscious body sprawled on the floor somewhere.

“ _Maybe he’s staying over at his new_ friend’s _room_ ,” Tim suggested, grateful that at least the other boy’s antics hadn’t spilled into their combined room instead. Yet, at least.

“Maybe,” Robin replied, unconvinced.

“ _If he’s going to be chasing skirts so often, at least it works out in our favor_.” When Robin said nothing, still scanning the room worriedly, Tim pushed at him a little irritably. “ _It’s my turn. I need sleep if you want to be able to function tomorrow_.” There was obviously no one there, and he was more than willing to leave the problem of their roommate for another day.

“Of course.” Robin vanished from Tim’s skin—the weight of cape and belt and gloves and responsibility sloughing off—leaving Tim to trudge across the room, heading for the promising lure of his bed and a good sleep. He’d not gotten more than a couple steps before sudden motion at the window he’d just vacated startled him into a mad sprint to get under the covers, to look like he’d been asleep for a while like a good little student. Had someone followed him? Was it Conner sneaking in late after curfew?

He waited, feigning sleep, ears straining for any sounds. Even Robin’s presence inside him felt taut, fully alert for any threat. It was only a few seconds before they heard the whoosh of the window opening and closing and light feet settling on the floor. There was a pause then—a minute of nothingness in which Tim kept his eyes firmly closed and his breathing rigidly steady—followed by the sound of a body falling heavily onto the other bed. Frowning the tiniest bit, Tim cracked his eyes open, peering through the darkness just in time to see a familiar black shirt and jeans fade into a bare, muscular chest and boxers. He didn’t need Robin’s sudden stillness in his head to know this was a problem.

“ _Oh, you have got to be kidding me_.”

Tim’s roommate was Superboy.

He was so screwed.


	3. Suspicious Activity

The fact that Tim’s roommate was a Persona’s vessel left some seriously pressing questions on Tim’s mind: did Conner know? Were Superboy’s unearthly blue eyes watching him from behind his roommate’s cool gaze? Were they working together?

Tim eyed Conner covertly as the other boy threw off his covers and stretched languidly: a completely unnecessary, full-bodied flex of muscle that accentuated his strong shoulders and broad chest. It could have been the way he stretched every morning (Tim hadn’t been sleeping in the same room long enough to tell, but his roommate seemed self-possessed enough for it), or Conner _could_ have been trying to throw him off with a _show_ of normalcy, or even intentionally trying to distract him by subtly hitting on him again.  If Conner was trying to throw off suspicion though, it wasn’t going to work. Tim knew what was under Conner’s skin now.

Having a roommate in the first place was enough of a problem, but having a roommate who secretly flew around saving people and sometimes met up with Robin? That was fiasco material. They were going to be in trouble if Superboy identified one of Robin’s bruises on Tim, assuming he didn’t put together Tim’s nightly absences first. Like _last_ night. What a mess. Tim couldn’t be sure Superboy hadn’t noticed him—the Persona’s hearing was remarkable, and Tim had not been taking that into consideration at the time.

Not that Conner was letting on if he knew. In fact, the other boy went about all his normal routines that morning seemingly oblivious to Tim’s calculating scrutiny against his back. Conner’s gaze barely touched his at all, sliding coolly past the few times the other boy had to look his way. Though it was more likely the cold shoulder Conner had been giving him since the mix-up when they’d met rather than some tactic to avoid letting on that he suspected anything about the identity of Robin’s vessel.

Still, the possibility of Superboy figuring him out bothered Tim all morning. He was still trying to work out a plan to handle it when he arrived at his first period classroom. A few students had already arrived ahead of him, and Tim snagged a seat next to the windows in front of a weedy boy with glasses to watch the other students arrive in little clusters. Karl chose a spot on the other side of the room, sitting on top of his desk while he laughed with a couple of his friends. Conner was a row up and two rows over in the perfect position for Tim to secretly observe him under guise of watching the clock.  Not that Conner was doing anything noticeably super-like at the moment. Unless receiving ridiculous amounts of female attention counted. It might have had something to do with the way he lounged back in his chair, hands behind his head—a position that emphasized his strong chest—or his generally relaxed and friendly demeanor.

Tim realized he was frowning at the display, unable to put into words why it annoyed him so much how big of a flirt his roommate was. Conner was good looking, broad shouldered and well built with bright blue eyes and a charming smile, large in that unassuming way that made others feel safe. Of course he was going to attract attention. Especially when he gave so much of it out, grinning at anything on two legs.

“ _Someone is going to figure out his Persona if he doesn’t stop standing out_ ,” Robin said disapprovingly, putting the problem into words. “ _Then he’ll be a target_.”

Before Tim could reply, he was distracted from his thoughts by the excited exclamations of a group of three girls clustered around a newspaper on the desk immediately to his right.

“I can’t believe he’s here in Gotham!” The girl closest to him, actually sitting at the desk, with long, raven hair that curled around her shoulders was Ariana Dzerchenko. Tim recognized her only because Robin had been keeping an eye on her dad and the ties he had with the Russian mob.

“That theater is just a couple blocks away too!” The girl leaning on the far side of the desk, long legs crossed in the isle, Tim didn’t recognize, but a silver charm swinging from her zipper pull read Linda.

“We might actually get to see him!” And _that_ girl Tim recognized at least, if not by name. He had last seen her wearing an S-shield shirt, blonde hair tied up neatly, arm-in-arm with Conner as they left the dorm together. Now she knelt, turned around backwards in her chair to view the newspaper on Ariana’s desk, back turned firmly to the boy next to her.

“Who?” Tim interrupted, leaning over. Ariana glanced his way, saw who was asking and flashed him a smile, which earned her a titter from Linda. The blonde girl, Conner’s friend, just tilted the paper so he could see. There, boldly covering the front page in black and red, was an annoyingly good-looking face grinning broadly into the camera.

“Superboy.” Of course.

“What’s he doing in Gotham?” Tim asked, resisting the urge to glance over at Conner and give anything away. He wasn’t supposed to know, and Superboy might actually be listening.

“Who cares!” the blonde girl replied. “I just hope he’s staying!”

“Gotham doesn’t need another vigilante.” Gotham already had several vigilante Personas, not the least of which included the brightly-colored Wish beneath his own skin and _Batman_ , both of whom had been protecting everyone just fine for years. They didn’t need Superboy’s help. Unfortunately, the blonde who’d shown him the paper misunderstood.

“Those vigilantes are keeping our streets safer than the police ever have,” she replied, looking him up and down. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

“Callie!” Ariana protested. “I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

“ _Some_ of us don’t have an army of guards to come rescue us at our every whim,” Callie ignored her, still glaring at Tim, arms crossed.

“I don’t have—” Tim started to protest, before dropping that line of reasoning with a frustrated noise—he did have Robin, after all. “Look, I just meant there are enough Personas risking their lives for us as it is.” More than made the news. More than Callie knew about for sure.

“He’s right,” the boy behind Tim suddenly spoke up, and four pairs of eyes turned his way in surprise. The boy blinked back at them all from behind round glasses, caught off guard by the sudden spotlight he’d brought upon himself.

“And you are…?” Callie asked.

“Owen.” The boy frowned back at her assertively. “And what’s one Persona helping everyone compared to the dozens out for revenge? Not to mention all the ER patients who are victims of half-formed Wishes for flight or invulnerability.”

“Actually—” That hadn’t been quite Tim’s point, but Callie was already leaning forward, cutting him off in her passionate defense of the topic.

“Superboy isn’t the pitiful Wish of someone who watched Peter Pan too many times. Seriously, have you seen those biceps?” She waved the newspaper at him before slapping it back down on the desk. “I mean, he knows what he’s doing. He saved that couple.”

“ _With some help_ ,” Robin muttered.

“But we’d be better off without Personas at all,” Owen replied obstinately.  

“ _Ouch_.”

Tim really needed to head off the direction of the conversation, to explain that there were just as many people who never had to go to the hospital because a Persona saved them, that the city’s own Personas substantially decreased the number of patients in the ER in the first place, that there were perfectly good Personas already protecting Gotham, but someone else intervened first.

“They have a point,” Conner cut in, and Tim jerked toward the sound of _that voice_ with a sharp inhale, because he’d been carefully spying on the other boy all morning, and _when_ had he gotten so close? Sure enough though, there stood his roommate, having apparently caught part of the conversation from the desk beside Callie. He picked up the newspaper so he could also take a look.

“ _What does he think he’s doing?_ ” Robin asked, alarmed. “ _Why is he siding with us?_ ” Tim blinked at the unexpected support from his roommate, not trusting it anymore than Owen’s.

“These Persona vigilantes are just civilians who are stepping up to protect others. Some of them don’t even know they’re vigilantes.” Conner’s blue eyes shifted from Callie to Tim as he said it, and Tim forcefully stomped down on the mental alarm that flared up under the force of that charming smile. Even if he knew, Conner still couldn’t prove anything.

“ _Was that aimed at me?_ ” Tim asked, even as he raised an eyebrow questioningly at Conner. “ _Does he think_ I’m _the one who doesn’t know?_ ”

“ _Either that or he’s so oblivious he doesn’t even realize he is one_.”

Luckily, if Conner noticed any of Tim’s internal conflict, he didn’t say so.

“They shouldn’t have to put their lives on the line for us,” Conner continued, getting a nod of agreement from Owen. “Gotham needs more people willing to protect themselves.” That hadn’t been what Tim meant either—they definitely did not need more people putting themselves in danger—but there was no use arguing now. Robin was just as annoyed by Conner’s unexpected decision to side with him.

“ _He’s been here, what? A day?_ ” the Persona asked, unimpressed and a little offended. “ _How does he know what Gotham needs?_ ”

“ _He really doesn’t._ _No wonder he has Superboy though, if he feels that strongly about stepping up himself_. _He doesn’t just_ want _to help others, he has the will to do it_.”

“ _Something you have in common_ ,” Robin pointed out, and Tim’s enthusiasm on that point dropped into the negatives. He wasn’t the only one either.

Callie shot Conner a withering glare. “Because you’re such a good example of being there for others.”

Conner was on the other side of Callie’s desk, her ire turned that direction, so Tim couldn’t feel more than the heat of her words, and that was more than enough.  He glanced back and forth between them, eyes widening as he put the pieces together.

“ _He completely ditched her last night, didn’t he?_ ” Robin asked.

“ _It’s the only way he could have run into us_ ,” Tim agreed. “ _But did he do it intentionally or did Superboy walk him out the door?_ ”

Conner seemed to realize he was in trouble, confident smile faltering in the face of the angry girl staring him down.

“ _Nope_ ,” Tim concluded. “ _He has no idea_.”

Even Ariana seemed to have caught onto the tension, gracing Conner with her own unimpressed glare on behalf of her friend.

“I didn’t say I was,” Conner backpedaled, expression bewildered.

“Good,” Callie continued, “because apparently you can’t even support a girl standing up for a good cause.” Her nails clicked a warning little staccato against the desk.

“ _Should we help him?_ ”

“ _We’re not_ that _close of roommates_.”

“I do what I believe in, not what others want me to believe,” Conner replied defensively, heedless of the warning clack of nails in his need to stand his ground. The smack of Callie’s hand falling flat against the desk was the snap of the trap springing.

“Then you must also believe in _walking out_ on your _friends_ with no explanation.” Every word was biting, teeth bared, chest heaving with vehemence. Even Tim was impressed by her fervor.  

Conner finally registered the real meaning behind her words, catching onto why Callie was so upset, and froze, mouth still open in mid-protest, effectively blindsided. Callie was pitiless, shutting down any chance he had at salvaging himself as she turned back to the group.

“I think Superboy should stay as long as he wants,” she finally declared with a determined kind of pleasantness, and the others picked up on her cues, picking up on the previously discarded discussion.

“Yeah,” Linda smiled impishly down at Superboy’s photograph, tapping just the tip of her shoe thoughtfully against the floor behind her, “I kind of like knowing he’s out there.” Ariana, however, shoved the newspaper toward them, shaking her head ruefully.

“How come we never get any good pictures of Gotham’s Personas?”

“ _You_ just want a better picture of Robin to tape to your mirror,” Linda teased her, and Ariana looked down, blushing. Robin made a pleased humming noise, and if Tim could have poked him, he would have. But his attention was still on Conner, who was frowning now into mid air like he was trying to sort something out.

“ _The cluelessness could still be a part of the act_ ,” Robin suggested dubiously.

“ _No, I really think he doesn’t know._ ”

“ _We sleep in the same room though. How long is that going to last? Especially with Superboy’s abilities?_ ”

Tim had the same worries, but he was pulled from further ruminations at that point by the boy behind him.

“You’re Timothy Drake, right?” Owen asked suddenly. “DI’s heir?”

“Tim,” he corrected with a smile, turning to face his classmate properly. “Please just call me Tim.” Owen blinked at him from behind his glasses like he was trying to sort out a puzzle. Maybe this just wasn’t what he’d expected Drake Industries’ heir to act like. Contrary to outside appearances, Tim didn’t think people had to have something to offer to be worthwhile, and it was frustrating that people sometimes just assumed it.

“Tim,” he said finally, testing it. “It’s nice to know that not everyone”—his nod toward the girls next to them left no question who _everyone_ was—“is fooled by a good photo or some fancy press but sees Personas for what they are.” Tim groaned internally.

“They do cause problems,” he replied carefully, because he knew better than anyone how many people they’d lost to Two-Face or Joker or one of the others, “but—” He didn’t get a chance to finish. Just then the teacher walked in, calling out to the class, and any opportunity to continue the discussion was lost as Owen turned to face her. Belatedly, Tim did too.

He’d already read most of the chapter covered by the day’s lecture though and quickly turned his attention back to his original quandary. He continued to keep an eye on Conner throughout the rest of the class period, gaze following him out the door later as best he could despite Karl blocking his view when he moved to catch Linda’s attention.

Tim even continued to watch him off and on during the rest of the day, just in case. It never hurt to be thorough. Sometime in the early afternoon, Conner almost caught him at it by accident when he turned unexpectedly to answer a classmate. Luckily his roommate didn’t seem to notice. But even if Conner hadn’t caught on to his carefully calculated glances, Ariana had. She’d started to look at him curiously.

After that Tim had to let it go.

* * *

Conner yawned as he walked the last several yards down the hall to his room, rolling his shoulders to dispel the day’s tension and built-up stress. Callie had been ticked at him all day, claiming he’d ditched her last night, and he didn’t even have an excuse, because it was true, he couldn’t remember leaving her, only waking up in the morning. Maybe he’d been more tired than he’d realized. Whatever the case, he’d spent the better part of several hours convincing Callie to give him a second chance and they’d spent the last several hours marathoning Wendy the Werewolf Stalker.

The satisfying memory evaporated a little though when he reached the cold, hard impasse of his door. If he was honest, he’d been avoiding this. Staying out so late tonight, convincing Callie to let him stay just one more hour and another after that—it had all been to avoid his roommate. Not that he could prove anything. Every time he’d snuck a glance at the other boy all day, Tim had been taking notes and answering questions and generally being an exemplary student. But he’d felt eyes on him the entire day—a cold creeping sensation—and since he’d made amends with Callie there wasn’t anyone else he knew of who had it out for him. Yet.

Tim was definitely plotting ways to get rid of him.

All this meant that the thought of spending the afternoon cooped up in their room with the other boy staring at the back of his head was unsettling. But it was three in the morning now, and even studious Tim Drake would have to be asleep at this hour. Bolstered by this knowledge, he turned the handle and opened the door.

The room on the other side of the door was choked with shadows. It was a darkness relieved only by the wash of light from the door, spilling at his feet, and from the two windows. Then something moved—a shadow he hadn’t even realized was there, concealed among the others. Conner slammed his hand down on the lightswitch only to stop cold at the sight of his roommate perched in the open windowsill, frozen in a way that made Conner think they’d both been caught by surprise. Except where Conner’s eyes had been startled wide, Tim’s had narrowed. There was something unnerving about the steel blue of that gaze riveted on him, and any doubts he’d had that it had been Tim watching him all day were instantly put to rest.

For a moment they stared at each other, Conner struck dead still in the doorframe, Tim sleek and dangerous and backlit by the moody city light. Then Tim hopped down from the sill as though nothing was wrong, walked across the room without a word of acknowledgement, and got into bed. His eyes slid closed, black lashes resting peacefully against moon-kissed skin, and if Conner hadn’t just caught him in the act, he’d have believed Tim had been sleeping the entire time. The concept was creepy enough that Conner didn’t move, caught in vivid flashbacks of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, certain that the peaceful crescents of Tim’s shuttered eyes would pop back open if he did.

Sleepwalking, Conner decided, heart still pounding, when a few minutes had passed and Tim still hadn’t moved. It was totally sleepwalking. It was normal. Mostly. His roommate was not a werewolf about to devour him when he turned his back. Not that he’d mind too much if it was Tim. Tim could devour him anytime he wanted.

The mental image got away from him for a minute: Tim’s sharp teeth scraping over his shoulder, his wet tongue licking down Conner’s sternum, silky black hair tickling his abs, the way Tim’s eyes would meet his, burning blue enough to consume Conner core-out.

Conner shook his head to dispel those thoughts. Tim might not have been a werewolf, but he was still a jerk—now a _sleepwalking_ , stalking, window _-_ hopping freak of a jerk—and Conner wasn’t about to let all that… wispy black hair and slender hips and tight… no! He would not be won back over so easily!

He inched toward his bed, never turning his back on his seemingly slumbering roommate—he’d _seen_ horror movies after all, and real or not, weird roommate or not, he wasn’t taking chances. This was Gotham, and Gotham _bred_ weird. He slid under the covers without removing his clothes—it would have meant a minute of vulnerability—eyes on the bed across from his and the head of silky black hair against the pillows. Tim slept curled up like sin itself: covers only half pulled up and sliding suggestively off one hip, fingers caught in the corner of the pillowcase like they’d rather cling to something (or someone) else, lips parted invitingly. But Conner was on to him now. Although Tim still looked harmless and innocent, those sharp blue eyes seemed fastened in Conner’s mind—the intensity of them when they’d caught sight of him, narrow and fierce. He waited for them to pop back open now, to reveal his roommate’s sleepy visage for the ruse it was. He was still waiting when the slow, upward climb of the hour counter on the alarm clock faded into dreamless darkness.

* * *

When Conner woke up—too early, _way_ too early no matter what the clock said—exhausted, hair sticking up in tufts, and yesterday’s clothes rumpled beyond a second use, it was to find his roommate already dressed, impeccable in the school uniform, sitting silently on the opposite bed. How Conner hadn’t heard him moving about, he didn’t know. He clearly had some kind of inhuman stealth. For that matter, looking that perfect so early in the morning was definitely inhuman too. The werewolf theory was making more and more sense.

As far as Conner could tell though, he still had all his limbs, and that was what mattered.

Tim’s eyes flicked over to him when he sat up, then flicked down to his rumpled, dirty school uniform quizzically. Whatever assumptions he made about Conner’s sleepwear though, he kept them to himself. Conner pushed to his feet, shaking his head and fighting the unexpectedly heavy weight of exhaustion as he plodded to his dresser. Normally he was an early riser, used to waking up at ridiculous hours in the morning, and even with the late night, he couldn’t explain why he’d been so especially tired lately. A couple late nights wasn’t anything he hadn’t pulled before.

Putting the matter aside in favor of pressing morning appointments, he rummaged around in his drawer for a clean blazer. He wasn’t a fan of uniforms, and he definitely felt awkward in them, even more so next to Tim, who managed to make them look sinful. But then Tim looked good in anything.

And probably in nothing at all.

Conner closed his dresser drawer on that thought, trapping it in with the spare clothes, and had just started for the bathroom when Tim stepped in front of him, bringing him up short.

“Conner, about the other day—”

“Morning business!” Conner interrupted, brushing past him in favor of the small, adjoining room before Tim could reply. He caught a glimpse of Tim’s startled, blue eyes before he closed the door. He could wait though. Whatever excuse he had invented for last night, it could wait too.

Conner hurriedly shoved his bundled clothes down on the counter, only to realize that at some point over the past couple days his toothbrush had snugged up next to Tim’s.

“Traitor,” he told it, separating it from its buddy.

When he was done showering and dressing and generally taking as long as possible, he opened the door, hoping to snag his backpack and sneak out. Tim was ready for him though. Conner didn’t even make it more than a single step. The slighter boy was just suddenly blocking his path, arms crossed, shoulders set stubbornly, not to be budged. They both started talking over top of each other, Tim’s “I want to apologize” over top of Conner’s panicked “I didn’t see anything, I swear, your sleepwalking or whatever it was, just please don’t eat me—” He stopped short, Tim’s words catching up with him. “What?”

“I wanted to apologize,” Tim repeated, looking at him sideways like he’d just sprouted fur and a tail.

“Oh,” Conner replied lamely.

“I was rude to you when we first met,” Tim continued. “I had been assured I’d have the room to myself, but it wasn’t your fault someone misplaced the paperwork. I’d like it if we could start over.” The set of his shoulders relaxed then, having gotten the words out, and he held out his hand like a peace offering. “Welcome to Brentwood.”

Conner wasn’t a perfect judge of character, but Tim’s apology seemed honest, his smile sincere. Not like the contrived smiles he’d seen some of the other, more gilded students use when they were looking at him like a particularly attractive stepping-stone. Right before they’d ask him about Tim.

Yes, they had already tried several times. So he could understand why Tim had wanted a room to himself.

“Sorry about ruining your plans.” He shook Tim’s hand good-naturedly. “You could always let me make it up to you…” Tim groaned.

“I’m starting to think hitting on people is just how you say hello.”

“Just with you!” Conner protested, and then at Tim’s glower, “Okay, a lot of the time, but especially you.”

“What about Callie?”

“She’s a friend.”

“With benefits, I assume.”

“It’s not like that. She likes Wendy the Werewolf Stalker. We watch it together. My first night here she showed me this awesome store where they sell nothing but Wendy merchandise.” He winced at the end, because he still couldn’t remember why he’d apparently walked out on her. “Gotham might not be a total loss,” he concluded, and Tim was finally looking less dubious and more amused.

“Wendy? Really?” he asked, and at Conner’s earnest nod he shook his head. “When you first came onto me I thought you just wanted to brag that you’d slept with me.”

“Dude, I didn’t even know who you were!” Conner laughed, and felt a little lighter, because _there was still hope_. Tim was just used to people wanting to use him. It wasn’t because Tim thought he was a classless schmuck. Maybe his toothbrush was on to something. “So…”

“No.”

“Just hear me— Wait, where are you going?” Tim had headed for the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, and he managed to make even that look flawless.

“Class.” Eyebrows raised in amusement, he pointed to the clock. Conner stared at the glowing digits in incomprehension for a second before they registered.

“Whoa!” Any previous intentions and thoughts vanished instantly. He jolted into a mad scramble for his things, catching the strap of his backpack with three fingers.  

“Oh, and Conner?” Tim had turned back at the last minute, grinning mischievously from the doorway. “If you catch me sleepwalking again, watch out. I’ve been told I have a pretty nasty kick at night.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wendy the Werewolf Stalker. I can’t tell you how much I miss Young Justice some days. DC just, thank you for finally publishing Robin in TPB, but can we get YJ next? The original one?
> 
> It's not quite that easy for Tim and Kon, but things are perking up. Also, the plot starts next chapter, I swear.


	4. Poolside Dissection

Friday meant first period lab, a prospect Tim had resigned himself to all week. Now, as the teacher handed out the assignment, he steeled himself mentally, watching Callie catch Conner’s attention and Linda tap Ariana on the shoulder. It was just that labs required _partners_. And partners? Partners were definitely a problem. Not that he had any trouble finding one, it was just…

“ _There’s always the brunette at three o’clock,_ ” Robin pointed out, amused, and Tim caught her eyeing him interestedly from the other side of the room as he glanced over.

“ _Miss Hairspray?_ ” he asked. “ _I’d rather_ not _spend the next hour listening to her chatter about the terrible selection of tanning salons in the area while she does her nails and I do all her work._ ”

“ _True, but she wouldn’t notice anything other than your charming smile either_.”

“ _Or_ _my ass._ ” Tim snorted.

“ _What about Mr. Twelve O’clock?_ ”

“ _Only if I want to fend off a dozen invitations to his party this weekend and subsequent hints about the helpful nature of my black card_.”

“ _Your parents would be so happy you were actually_ mingling _with the other students though_.”

“ _They’d rather I_ mingle _with others of my own_ status,” Tim bit the last word off in annoyance, even if it wasn’t entirely true. His father would have been happy just to know he wasn’t wasting away to nothing at his books. If he only knew.

“ _Which brings us to option number three…_ ”

Tim lurched forward in subtle panic, having spied Kip and Buzz heading toward him. Quickly, he pretended he hadn’t seen them, turning to the classmate behind him—practically lunging, hands slamming down a little too hard on either side of his desk.

“Owen! Partner with me?” Possibly there were a few too many teeth in his smile or possibly his grip on Owen’s desk was a little tight, a little too fierce. Desperate times…

The other boy startled at the hands on his desk and blinked in wary surprise up at Tim—his crazy classmate who’d practically just attacked him—like he couldn’t believe Tim was serious, couldn’t work out why DI’s heir would want to partner with him. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I’m not carrying you.”

“You won’t have to,” Tim promised, not that Owen had much room to wiggle out of it anyway. Tim had practically caged him—his mother would have been so _proud_ of his negotiation skills—and Owen’s other prospects were mostly just as bleak as Tim’s.

“Fine.” Owen still looked dubious and resigned, an expression that lasted all the way up until Tim sliced their celery stalk like a pro and prepped the samples for the microscope. All before any of the other groups could even get the hang of their X-acto knives. One thing Tim knew how to handle was blades—Robin had made sure of it—and there was something of an art to slicing the celery thin enough for the microscope. It was one of those little skills, the kind that could get him noticed, and he normally would have hidden his proficiency at it.  Except he was certain he could find a sufficient explanation that wouldn’t be completely a lie if asked, and there was no way he was going to lose his chance at a decent partner for the year if he could help it.

And Owen was a decent partner. He wasn’t the fastest worker, preferring methodical accuracy over speed, but he was no slouch either, and he knew what he was doing. If anything he was a bit of a nerd. But that just meant they got on well. Tim didn’t have to do extra work to make up for him, and Owen actually talked about interesting things: theories on Persona possession, mechanical resonance and the materialization of matter.

“It can’t just come out of nowhere!” Owen protested. They’d finished the lab work well before anyone else and started up a conversation with the spare time.

“Transformation of energy,” Tim replied animatedly. It had been awhile since he’d been able to really open up with anyone, and it was amazingly freeing. “It’s the only way.”

“Exactly! I’ve actually been tinkering with a device that analyzes different forms of energy.”

“You’re into mechanics?” Tim asked.

“Mechanical Engineering over Biology any day.”

It was one of the most productive labs Tim had ever had.

By the time class ended and they had to return to their seats, Robin was an approving hum in his head, having remained silent through most of the conversation with Owen.

“ _You approve of him_ ,” Tim concluded. Robin tended towards suspicion of anyone who wasn’t Tim—a thing Tim secretly found endearing—and it was unusual to find him so accepting.

“ _I approve of his_ brain,” Robin countered bemusedly. “ _And I approve of your good mood._ ”

“ _Usually you’re the one responsible for my good mood_ ,” Tim replied, mind on the thrill of rooftop chases and swinging between buildings even as he reached his seat and started packing his notebook and pencils back into his bag.

“ _I have that effect_ ,” Robin agreed, almost smug, voice accompanied by the sudden press of leather under Tim’s shirt. It spread across his abdomen and under his ribs, like phantom hands, like some ridiculously possessive hug coiled invisibly around his midriff.

Tim stifled a gasp, hands clenching down on his bag a little too tightly.

“ _Not in class!_ ” he hissed, but no one had seen and Robin’s laughter was unrepentant. Tim was still shaking his head when he picked up his textbook, making to stuff it in his bag too and be done. Only it felt… a little thicker somehow, and he paused, noticing the pages weren’t lying flat but bulging a little toward the middle. Opening it up warily, he found sliced up bits of celery jammed in near the binding, gumming up the book. And there went his good mood.

His head jerked up, eyes darting between the retreating backs of his classmates, waiting for anyone to meet his gaze. In the end though, his eyes met Owen’s instead. Owen, who stood unmoving in the isle with his own book open in his hands, detritus visible down the middle.

“Karl’s group was sitting here,” Owen replied, the corners of his mouth pulled down angrily.

“He’s a jerk. I’m sorry, this is my fault.”

“He’s a jerk to _everyone_.” Owen only closed his book with a wet snap, shoving it back in his bag unceremoniously before shouldering the weight. Tim watched him go, lips pressed tight. The steely blue of Robin’s gaze leaked into his own, the Persona equally unhappy with the situation.

“ _One of these days I’m going to schedule Karl a late night appointment with my fist_.”

* * *

 The problem with curfew was it just meant more students milling around the dorm hallways in the late evening. That meant more eyes to see Tim slip out. He’d taken to spending half an hour every night walking the hallways, observing which areas were usually free and clear, which were cluttered with loud groups, and which silent corners were usually snagged by the serious students studying late.

He was making one such circuit, pretending to head toward the vending machine only because it took him past the roof access stairwell, when a piercing scream interrupted his thoughts. It was so sudden he jerked to a startled stop and the person behind him ran into him. The force of the collision knocked Tim off his feet, sending him sprawling. It took all his willpower not to catch himself, not to use the reflexes he’d developed as Robin, but to let himself fall messily to the floor. He looked up, head still echoing with phantom screams, to find Karl looming over him, a crushed coffee cup in one hand and a brown stain spreading across his varsity jacket.

Karl couldn’t hear the screaming. No other members of the little cluster hanging around the vending machine could either. Not even really Tim, not directly anyway, because it wasn’t really a scream, but a Wish: a desperate, wordless desire for help. It was the very thing Robin existed to answer, and Robin was the one who could hear it.

The screaming continued, ringing in Tim’s head, demanding Robin’s attention.

“ _It’s close by!_ ”

“ _In the school?_ ” Tim raised himself onto his hands and knees, gaze snapping around to stare at the solid wall to his right through which the desperate non-sounds originated. Not immediately on the other side, maybe not even in the building, but _close_.

Before he could get to his feet though, Karl’s hand fisted in his shirt, hauling him up one-handed. Preoccupied as he was with Robin’s affairs, Tim had almost forgotten about his fellow student, and he didn’t appreciate Karl’s idea of a reminder. Less when, with his free hand, Karl pinched his ruined jacket, flapping the stain in Tim’s face.

“See this? Do you know how much this cost?”

“I can replace it,” Tim replied, frowning, and then felt the need to emphasize, “if you put me down.”

“ _We have to go_ ,” Robin said, alert now. “ _Stop playing around_.”

“Put him down, Karl.” Ariana stood among the small circle of onlookers, a lock of hair pinched between her fingers angrily. “He said he’d replace it.”

“You leave this to us, baby.” Lance flanked Karl to his left, shouldering out Ariana’s misplaced attempt at help. The fist in Tim’s shirt tightened warningly.

“Oh, you’re going to make it up to us alright.”

Tim really needed to deal with this now, needed to find a way to get Karl off his case before he became a permanent target and preferably without revealing his abilities. He could have accidentally pinched the nerve in the wrist holding him aloft, but the problem with making anything look accidental was it risked Karl thinking he’d gotten lucky and coming right back after him next time.

“ _Tim!_ ” Robin reminded sharply, not that he’d forgotten in the least.

Tim could feel his eyebrow twitch as he was jerked up and down a little, and he was seriously considering just punching the guy—forget the rich, Drake-heir facade he was supposed to be maintaining—when someone else punched him instead. Surprise jarred Tim’s scowl from his face, and he watched with wide eyes: the fist, the way it connected with Karl’s jaw, the way Karl stumbled back under the force. And the look of fury on Conner’s face.

Conner, who had definitely not been in their little group earlier.

Tim dropped to the ground unnoticed, all eyes having turned to the large, livid bulk of his roommate. It was just as well, because there was no one to notice how he caught himself a little too well, landed a little too perfectly, and no one to see the flash of annoyance that tightened the corners of his mouth. So much for solving the problem himself. Now he was going to have to deal with it all over again.

“He said let him go!” Conner stood there, arms folded furiously across his chest, like a solid brick wall of righteous anger.

Karl looked up from where he’d stumbled into Lance’s arms, touching the soon-to-be bruise on his face incredulously. His brown eyes flashed challengingly as he straightened up, pushing his friend away and straightening his ruined jacket with a jerk.

“What do you think you’re doing, Kent?”

“No,” Conner replied, “it’s about what _you’re_ doing. You and your friends hurt Linda and now I find you picking on my roommate?”

Tim’s gaze had been straying toward the wall worriedly, thoughts already on the upcoming trouble, but it jerked toward Conner at his declaration, surprised. Linda had been hurt? But there was no time now…

“He ruined my jacket!” Karl pointed sharply at Tim. “He owes me!”

“Not like this, and besides”—Conner smirked, not budging—“you look better that way.” Karl growled, lunging forward, but Lance caught him last minute, jerking his chin toward Ariana. She had her phone turned so they could all see the screen and her thumb over the call button. Dean Nederlander’s picture appeared prominently above the number.

“You’d better hope I never see your sleazy hands on Tim again,” Conner continued. For a minute they stood there, staring each other down in silent stalemate.

“This isn’t over, Kent,” Karl managed and, when Conner didn’t refute it, finally turned away. The tension melted from Conner’s shoulders then, but by the time he’d turned around to offer some misplaced form of concern, Tim was already several feet down the hallway.

“Hey!” Conner shouted, hurrying to catch up. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I didn’t need your help.” Tim didn’t stop walking, forcing Conner to keep up if he insisted on continuing their conversation.

“I just saved your skinny butt. Some gratitude might be nice.” Unfortunately, Conner didn’t seem to be the kind to give up.

“I could have handled them,” Tim informed him primly, the clip of his footsteps sharp with urgency. The screaming hadn’t stopped. He didn’t have time for this. His roommate thinking him rude (again) was the least of his worries. “Like I said, I didn’t need your help.” He wasn’t expecting Conner to grab his arm and spin him around. The other boy’s hands tightened vice-like around his biceps, and Tim frowned at the manhandling, ready to shrug off the grip and the angry rebuke that was surely coming. Only it didn’t.

Conner opened his mouth, seemed to struggle for a minute, tongue forming words he forcibly swallowed down. After a minute his grip eased up.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked, blue eyes earnest, and Tim blinked in surprise. It wasn’t the angry tirade he’d expected. It wasn’t what he deserved.

Conner really was a good guy.

“I’m fine,” Tim replied honestly, and it was too bad he didn’t have time for guilt.

“ _Ditch him_ ,” Robin pressed. “ _You can clear things up with him later_.”

“ _I’m trying!_ ” Unfortunately, his best solution involved a fourth party and would probably nix every scrap of camaraderie he’d gained with the other boy. Why did Conner have to worry about him? It would have been so much easier if his roommate had just wanted to use him like everyone else. He sighed. Time to suggest the fourth party option. " _Maybe there's someone else who can help with the problem_."

" _Let's get his attention_."

"I'm really sorry, Conner"—he _was_ , he'd just made _up_ with his roommate—"but it's not _you_ I need right now." He pulled back his fist and let loose on his roommate’s face—the one person he could safely hit— _watching_ for what he knew was coming.

It was a subtle change, the kind he could have missed by blinking at the wrong time. Conner’s eyes were just suddenly inhuman blue, that was all, nothing anyone else would have noticed, but Tim knew it wasn’t Conner in front of him anymore. By the time his punch landed, it didn’t do any damage.

That didn’t stop Superboy from looking absolutely incredulous. Tim didn’t give him more than a moment to process before he was in his face, shrugging off his roommate’s slackened grip.

“I don’t need your hero-complex riding to the rescue anymore than I need Karl’s help rearranging my uniform or my classmates’ help using my bank account. I don’t need your pity or your assistance and it doesn’t look like I’m going to get your respect, so get off my case.”

For a second Superboy looked stymied, caught between fury on behalf of his vessel, surprise at Tim’s vehement portrayal of Conner’s intentions, and confusion over how to deal with the human boy all up in his face. He opened his mouth, started to reach out, and no. No way. Tim wasn’t going to give him any semblance of an edge. Better to nudge him back off balance before he could fully gather his wits.

" _Don't_." Tim pinned him with a glare Batman would have approved of, the kind he wasn't supposed to be using as Tim. Superboy could have chosen to push it anyway—he had the strength and all the advantage—but there was no way he couldn't hear the screaming, no way he didn't feel the pull of someone in imminent peril. He needed to be somewhere else just as much as Robin did and Tim was counting on that distraction.

Superboy’s mouth closed, lips thinning unhappily, but his arm dropped back to his side and he didn’t look like he might try to stop Tim anymore. That was all Tim needed. He pivoted on his heel and escaped down the hall, making it around the corner before he started running.

* * *

 The screaming cut out before Robin could even make it to the roof. There was no falter in his movements though—everything limited to pure expediency. There was only Tim’s mental stillness like an indrawn breath, just the telling silence in his own head where the screaming had been.

It took him less than two minutes to cross the distance, aided by the nearness of their destination, the number of parties focused on the same goal, and the stark awareness that seconds counted. Superboy still beat them, of course.

The door had been kicked in, a splintered maw of jagged, wooden teeth guarding the Aquatic Center’s darkened, inner hallways. Robin’s teeth clicked together at the sight.

“ _Not like we’re going to_ surprise _anyone now_ ,” Tim said, sparing a thought for the kind of entrance the other Persona had made even as Robin vaulted heedlessly over the debris.

It would have been nice to have kept some semblance of surprise, but even if Superboy hadn’t pulverized that option, speed took priority. Robin dashed down the main corridor, ignoring dark offices and storage closets and branching hallways in favor of the signs jutting out of the intersections, pointing the way to the Aquatic Center’s heart: the pool. Following his instinct, because there was no noise to follow. With Superboy ahead of him, the silence was particularly worrying: the larger Persona’s style didn’t accommodate silence very well.

Not like losing the screaming inside his skull wasn’t bad enough.

Someone needed him. Someone needed him ten minutes ago. Robin gritted his teeth at the thought. The entire building should have been locked down, but that didn’t always stop some intrepid student aide with a key from enjoying personal time. Neither did it stop some Personas from dragging their victims through doors or windows or drain pipes.

Finally he hit a hallway bathed in serene blue light, which reflected palely through the double-wide, frosted-glass doors at the other end. He shoved through them in a way that would have been reckless any other time, gaze immediately darting to the open expanse of the pool, crystal water too still against the sides of its basin.

He saw Superboy first, feet flat on the concrete for once like gravity had finally dragged him out of the air. There was something about the way the shifting, cerulean light of the pool bleached his face, something about the way the other vigilante was rooted to the spot and subtly leaning back, body slanted away from the open room in revulsion, that should have been a warning. Robin’s gaze slid along Superboy’s sightline to the floor, where the concrete met the blue tile that ran along the edge of the pool, and he rocked backward at the scene.

Inches from his feet a swath of that tile had turned a stagnant, dirty red, wet with blood—Robin could smell it despite the pervasive reek of chlorine and pool chemicals that clung to the room, burning his nose. There was so much of it: dripping back into the pool in sluggish runnels, smeared in stark streaks in some struggle, splayed in half-dried handprints. Robin had seen blood before though, had waded through more of it than he could measure. No, what had his hand clenched down around the door handle behind him like it had been soldered there was the boy lying face down in the middle of it all. _Half_ a boy.  Everything from the waist down was gone. Not displaced, not crushed—there weren’t enough bits lying around—just gone.  

His organs had spilled out: long, ropey intestines almost dipping into the pool. Blood glistened in his matted hair and covered half his face like some macabre mask where it pressed against the tile. Despite their distortion, Robin recognized the features—the strong jaw and hairline and once mocking mouth—even without the varsity jacket.

“ _Steve_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry about the delay. I do have ch. 5-7 drafted though, and I'll try to post those over the next month or two. There might be another mini-hiatus for ch. 8, which is a huge hold up right now, and it looks like this story is going to end up around 14 chapters long. 
> 
> Posting for my birthday! :D


	5. Get a Clue

Gotham had three strikes against it right from the start. First, it was a dingy, grimy, dump of a city, which (despite its renown as Batman’s territory) couldn’t claim any Personas capable of really keeping it clean. The filth just festered back up from between the cracks. Second, Conner would frequently go completely mopey over the situation, missing Ma’s cooking at meals or missing the sun when it was constantly blocked out by brooding cloud cover, and it bothered Superboy that his vessel was unhappy here. Finally, it was a blatant symbol of his banishment. That’s exactly what this was: a banishment. Somehow Superman had gotten his vessel sent here on purpose, nothing would convince Superboy otherwise. And even if their new classmates weren’t as completely awful as they’d first seemed (there were smart, long-legged girls and sexy, untouchable roommates), nothing would keep Superboy from seeing it as a punishment. A completely unnecessary punishment. He’d already learned his lesson about spontaneous Hawaiian vacations just seeing how much it had freaked Conner out.

Point was, Superboy thought, Gotham sucked. He’d been convinced until about a minute ago that it wasn’t possible for the city to lower his expectations any further. But no. Just when he’d been hoping for a good, old-fashioned beat down to take his mind off things, Gotham threw _this_ at him. What, exactly, was he supposed to do with a _corpse?_ Was this what Batman had to deal with every night?

Personally Superboy had always thought it was no wonder the city overflowed with an impenetrable layer of scum: the handful of mostly human Personas therein weren’t strong enough to handle it. They didn’t have super strength or invulnerability or anything! But as Robin brushed past him with calm purpose, crouching beside the mess on the concrete with cold efficiency while he was still swallowing past the urge to gag, he thought maybe he’d been wrong about that. Maybe the ability to put up with this kind of never-ending junk was its own kind of strength.

“I assume”—Robin shot him a thoroughly unimpressed glare from his crouch—“there’s no one else here or you wouldn’t be standing there uselessly.”

Superboy startled a little, because he hadn’t actually checked for anyone _lurking_ —there was very little that could hurt him had anyone attacked and he’d been preoccupied with the nastier bits of the scene. He checked now though, not to be outdone, listening carefully for any other living sounds in the building.

“There’s no one here,” he confirmed, a bit miffed, not just by Robin’s censure but by the distinct lack of anything to beat up.

Gotham couldn’t even spawn decent villains! They crawled out of the murk and vanished back into the darkness just as quickly, insubstantial as smoke. Cowardly, creepy lot. Was it too much to ask for a nice, straightforward villain who stuck around to gloat and get punched? Superboy knew how to deal with robbers and giant robots, and he could _really_ use something to punch right about now. He hadn’t liked Steve, but no one deserved to end up like this.

Robin didn’t respond though, continuing about his work, perhaps having already drawn the same conclusion about the absence of the murderer, or perhaps too absorbed to be bothered, or perhaps unconcerned about an attack with Superboy at his back. That had to be it.

For a minute or two he watched Robin work, taking samples and measuring serrations along the corpse’s midriff. He felt absurdly useless, hovering agitatedly a couple feet above the ground.

“Any idea what did this?” he hedged finally, not liking having to admit that he didn’t even know where to start. He was unfamiliar with Gotham’s normal criminals and forensics was so not in his service area. Robin looked back at him, and, in retrospect, the sharp little quirk of his mouth should have been a warning. Especially considering the sobering scene surrounding them.

“You tell me. Anyone with a motive? After all”—a quirk, because he _knew_ —“your vessel attends school here.”

Superboy felt himself suddenly grounded, because Holy S-Shield, how did he do that?

“Have you been stalking me?” he asked, torn between affront at the possibility, shame ( _how_ had he not noticed?), and self-satisfaction that Robin found him stalker-worthy. “You have, haven’t you? It figures you’d have creepy stalker skills.”

“I have a lot of skills you don’t know about,” Robin replied cryptically, “and it’s my business to know what happens in this city.” Which told him absolutely nothing, except that Robin was an obsessed little freak who enjoyed _watching_ him. Superboy was surprisingly okay with that. The trickier, smaller Persona was more interesting than he’d initially seemed.

And he was staring at him. Still. With that patiently _dissecting_ look.  

“Well, if you want—”

“ _Superboy_.” And when Superboy only blinked blankly, Robin prompted further, “Suspects?”

Oh. Superboy forced himself to focus on the question, his mouth thinning grimly at the thought of the boy—half-boy now—in his class. He’d seen Steve and his friends around, had seen how they treated other students, and there wasn’t a single good thing to say about the varsity members. Callie was constantly complaining about them. They’d almost hurt Linda. He’d been delayed in arriving to save Steve by the very fact that one of Steve’s friends had been harassing his vessel’s roommate. At least Tim had been with Conner at the time, but he was just about the only one he could rule out.

There wasn’t a single person who didn’t have some grievance with the group. The list of possible suspects was ridiculous.

“Jeez, anyone could have done this.” He floundered for a bit at the realization before remembering to clear what names he could. “Well, except for Ariana and Tim. They were both with me at the time.” For some reason that made Robin’s lips twitch into something almost like a smile.

“Mm,” was all he said though, straightening from his crouch.

“Now what?” Superboy asked when the other Persona didn’t look to be forthcoming anytime soon.  

Robin considered him.

“Maybe you should let your vessel get some rest. I can handle this.”

“No way!” He planted his feet stubbornly. It was a matter of pride now. “Do I need to point out Exhibit A?” He waved a hand at the mess on the floor that he could _not_ think of as Steve. “When you run into whatever did that, you’re going to need me.” Robin might have been deceptively more skilled than his appearance initially suggested, but he was still vulnerable and human.

The corners of Robin’s mouth tightened in exasperation.

“Then why don’t you go pull the fire alarm and alert the authorities before any students find this in the morning?”

Superboy was off to find one of the fire alarms before Robin had even finished talking, zipping down the hall to the last one he’d seen. He had the alarms blaring in no time, folding his arms in satisfaction as the red emergency lights flashed to life. The whole expedition took less than a minute. He was back to the pool in no time, only to come to a confused halt mid-flight staring at the empty room.

“What the…?” Apparently Robin was one of those things that disappeared into the darkness. Gotham’s little nightmares. The sneaky little bugger. “Oh, you _so_ did not!”

Robin had ditched him! Worse, he realized belatedly, the other Persona had intentionally sent him to turn on the alarms in an attempt to knock out his hearing so he couldn’t follow. He dropped out of the air at the realization, flummoxed. Outmaneuvered by a human. That was almost… impressive.

But oh no, he was _not_ getting away that easily. Superboy had already lost one villain tonight and he was not losing anyone else, especially not some non-powered, _human_ Persona. Especially when he’d just been standing there a second ago, and Robin might have had skills, but Superboy was pretty sure teleportation wasn’t one of them. He ignored the incessant, grating blare of the alarm, sifting out the immediate noise in favor of the other sounds around him, _focused_. There was only one other living person in the building after all, one other heartbeat to follow, and he was going to teach the little sneak a lesson. _There_. He stretched out with his TTK along the wall and through the grate into the ventilation shafts. It only took a moment after that to wrap the other Persona up in his TTK, twining first around his boot and then spreading up his leg, immobilizing him. He could feel the little gasp when Robin realized he couldn’t move and Superboy grinned triumphantly.

“ _Gotcha_.”

Robin was downright glowering a minute later as he floated out of the building, held suspended in the air. Superboy hovered easily a foot or two above the roof, arms folded smugly, grin still firmly in place.

Win.

* * *

Robin crouched on the corner of the roof where Superboy had finally released him, glowering out at the city, completely frustrated with the whole mess. Not just the murder. The _assistance_. Across the street, stories below, the paramedics and police had shown up, scurrying at their tasks. At least someone was getting something accomplished tonight.

“How long are you going to stay out here?” Superboy asked, floating along on his back, the picture of abject boredom.

“ _You’d think he’d take the hint_ ,” Tim muttered irritably. “ _Why hasn’t he gone home yet?_ ” Robin’s own irritability warmed a little at the cross voice in his head. At least he had good company to help weather the situation.

“Until I’m not needed,” Robin replied, glancing back across the rooftop at the other vigilante. Really, when had he become a babysitter? He hadn’t actually been standing there stagnantly hoping for more trouble, even if it would have been a nice distraction. He’d just needed a few minutes to think. Not that he’d gotten much of that with Superboy glued to his side.

“If the last half an hour wasn’t a clue, they don’t need you.”

“It’s Gotham. We’re always needed.” Robin stood up, stretching his legs and starting across the rooftop. Superboy’s eyes followed him, focus drifting to the fluid grace of his stride, the way his cape flared at his hips.

“ _I_ could need you,” he said suddenly.

Robin nearly tripped over an air duct.

“ _He hits on me even when he’s unconscious_ ,” Tim groaned. It wasn’t enough Conner pursued his vessel at every available opportunity, now the Persona he’d Wished up was interested too? Robin wasn’t sure what had caused the fixation with Tim, but he didn’t like it coming from the other Persona. Conner at least had merit and heart, but he had yet to be impressed by Superboy.

“I thought my vessel was scrawny and unappealing,” Robin replied flatly when he’d recovered, and if the deliberate, hard stomp of his steps actually made noise for once, he was working off some frustration.

“Hey, I never said unappealing. You’re definitely appealing. Just in that slender, scrawny way that doesn’t promise much else.”

Robin gave him a dirty look and dropped off the side of the building. He heard Superboy’s “Whoa!” behind him distantly, but by the time the other Persona caught up, diving after him, he was already grappling to the next building, body curved into a long, dangerous arc and practically radiating Leave-Me-Alone vibes. It wasn’t going to help him ditch his shadow, but the thirty seconds of peace was worth it, plus the look on Superboy’s face when he’d dropped out of sight. Of course, the other Persona was waiting for him when he landed safely on the next roof.

“See, that right there,” Superboy said. “Why don’t you just tell people you can do these things?” He grinned wolfishly, eyes sliding appreciatively down the curve of Robin’s waist, hugged by his utility belt, before the cape could conceal it again. “Clearly you have some skills. Maybe you could show me a few more.”

“Isn’t there another vigilante you could go hit on?” Robin asked wearily. “Like Batgirl?”

“ _She_ would _batarang him_ ,” Tim replied. “ _Then she’d come after us for inflicting him upon her_.”

“Depends. Is she as hot as you?”

“Can you…” Robin’s fists tightened in weary aggravation, “ _focus?_ ” And somehow that was the straw that finally set Superboy off.

“You want focus?” he asked, stopping abruptly mid-air and folding his arms irritatedly. “Alright. Let’s focus. My classmate is lying dead back there in pieces and we’re pacing across rooftops instead of figuring out where the other half of his body was dragged off to while my vessel is losing sleep—”

“It wasn’t dragged off.”

“—and I still have to— What?” Superboy blinked at him, stalled out mid-angry tirade by the cool interjection. Robin understood the frustration of having failed to save someone, especially someone he knew personally, even if that person was a jerk. The feeling was only exasperated by how close the situation was to his vessel and by Tim’s agitation in the back of his mind. All the more reason they needed cold logic right now.

“There was no blood anywhere else, and there’s no way dragging something like that wouldn’t leave a trail. Even if they’d bagged it up to dump it elsewhere, there would have been smears. Also, the way the flesh was torn…”

“Like he’d been eaten?” Superboy supplied uneasily.

“We’re not going to find the rest,” Robin concluded.

“Those serrations…”

“Too large for anything normal. Some kind of animalistic Persona.” Which only meant pinning it down was going to be troublesome. Robin paced restlessly for a second, stalking the thought to its end, before suddenly realizing the troubled silence in his own head had gone on a bit long. “ _Tim?_ ” The response came a little delayed.

“ _You know how this happened_.”

“ _Group aggression_.” They’d seen cases like this before after all. Individuals could create Personas, but enough people desiring to hurt the same party were just as much a force to be reckoned with. And in Steve’s case, with the company he kept, it was more likely the latter. “ _Based on the ridiculous number of people with motive_.”

“Not one you’ve dealt with before?” Superboy asked, but Robin was listening only for Tim.

“ _And that puts me at the top of our suspect list_.” It was too acerbic to be a joke, and the agitation Tim had been exuding the past half an hour suddenly made sense.

“ _You didn’t do this_.”

“ _You don’t know that. I’ve held some resentment for Steve and his friends like everyone else, and we both know I’m a strong source for your kind. I could have helped create this monster_.”

“ _No. You may not have liked him, but you never wanted to hurt him. You’ve always wanted justice not revenge. That’s why we’re compatible. If that had changed, I_ —” He stopped, shuddering, not wanting to think about the possibilities, whether Tim’s will would have been enough to turn him against the rest. “ _If there was a driving force behind this, it wasn’t you_.” Still, someone had tipped the scale. Someone had been _willing_ to do it. “ _We need to figure out who the Persona is using as a vessel_.”

“ _Didn’t Conner mention something about Linda?_ ” Tim asked after a second’s silence, and Robin nodded his agreement, glad for the new direction.

“ _We should talk to her_. Tomorrow.” He glanced back at their escort significantly.

“Robin…” Superboy started, but Robin raised a hand to stop him, signaling for a few seconds more of silence.

“ _This isn’t working_ ,” Tim growled, ignoring Superboy. “ _We’re getting in each other’s way_.” Robin turned abruptly on the raised corner of the roof, eyes closing briefly against the city and her filth, against the scene behind them still stuck vividly in their thoughts, and against the distracting Persona beside them.

“ _We can’t catch the murderer with Superboy beating us every time_ ,” he agreed.

“ _We need to start making our differences work for us_.”

“ _He’s faster than us, he could get us there quicker. He knows more about some of our classmates_.”

“ _That might be useful later. What about right now?_ ” The problem was _right now_ they needed to get some answers from a few key classmates. Someone who knew Steve. Someone who would know who had it in for him.  

“ _Somehow I doubt subtlety or interrogation is his thing_.”

“ _But intimidation?_ ”

“ _I can work with that_.”

Robin’s eyes split back open narrowly, corners of his mouth twitching up to find the city seemed a lot less chaotic suddenly, its mess forced into aligning to his favor. He could _deal_ with this. He turned about, vicious smile taking in Superboy.

“I think we should pay Steve’s roommate a visit.”

* * *

Steve’s roommate was Karl.

Robin had been looking forward to this for a long time: finally having a reason to put the fear of Gotham into the classmate picking on his vessel. Tim’s mood seemed lightened at the prospect. And if Superboy’s lack of objection was anything to go by, he had some things to work out with Karl too.  

They had to get Karl out of his room, of course. Robin didn’t want him yelling for help. Not in the dorm where there were students on every side to come running at the first whisper of a ruckus. They didn’t need to alarm anyone else. There wasn’t a roommate to worry about, at least, not anymore, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone else up and studying nearby. As it turned out though, Karl had thoughtfully left his window unlocked, not expecting any trouble on the second floor, and it was almost too easy getting in.

That’s how they ended up with an unconscious classmate on the roof of the bank across the street from campus.

“He’s starting to wake up. Superboy, if you would…”

Superboy kindly held Karl aloft by one foot, fingers wrapped around the ankle, leaving their classmate dangling in his grip over the edge of the roof. Robin took up a position perched on the edge itself, crouched so that his face was even with Karl’s as the other boy woke up. It was being jerked up by his ankle that really did it. The varsity player gasped, eyes flying open to the perfect view of neon-lit streets several stories below. He immediately shrieked and flailed uselessly, arms windmilling in panic.

“Dude,” Superboy said, “I’m not going to _drop_ you.”

“That’s my decision actually,” Robin interjected, and Karl’s attention immediately jerked to meet his blank stare, lenses reflecting back only the boy’s own frightened face and the long drop below. Neither he nor Tim had any pity here. This was Karl’s meeting with Gotham’s will given form, and she was an unforgiving city.

“What do you want? What is this?!”

“This is a _hold up_ , of course.” Superboy grinned, and, really, this is what he got when _Metropolis_ helped out.

“Superboy? Robin?” Karl asked incredulously, identifying the figures in front of him and swallowing visibly. “But! You don’t hurt people!”

“We don’t hurt _good_ people,” Robin corrected. “You and your friends have been up to some naughty things.”  Karl paled, apparently worried that Robin would find him lacking. He was right to be worried.

“They were just pranks! I swear!”

“Someone thought your roommate’s pranks weren’t very funny. We need to know who that might have been.”

“What?!” Karl flailed. “I don’t know! What are you talking about?!” Robin gave him a minute. It was a lot to take in, and he was probably still processing. His brain finally seemed to catch up. “Did something happen to Steve?” Robin only stared back at him, the corners of his mouth turning down grimly, and Karl _got_ it. Or he got enough of it. “Oh _jeez_.”

“Names, Karl,” Robin reminded him, and Superboy helpfully shook him a little.

“Alright!” Karl shouted, looking sick. “Alright! There was… yesterday, he snitched Linda’s pencil because his was out of lead, and in lab…”

As it turned out, Karl could be helpful when he wanted to be. Too bad Robin had already figured out most of the names he supplied. By the time Karl had petered off, stuttering as he attempted vainly to remember, they’d learned very little important.

“ _I think we’re done here_ ,” Tim said dismissively, when it was obvious they weren’t getting anywhere. Robin’s own irritation must have shown through, because Karl started babbling.

“I don’t know about anyone else! I swear! I don’t—” He yelped when Robin reached out to grab a fistful of his hair and tug him closer, face to upside-down face, so Karl was only inches away from the blank, unforgiving lenses of his mask.

“One more thing,” Robin promised. He was fully aware of how terrifying his grin probably looked just then, wide and menacing on Tim’s pale face. He shook Karl’s head a little meaningfully. “If I ever catch word of you harassing your classmates again, I’ll be back.”

He made sure his fist was the last thing Karl would remember of their meeting.

* * *

“We should do that to the rest of the varsity team,” Superboy suggested, after they’d returned Karl’s unconscious body to his room and reconvened on the roof. He was grinning again, high from success. “That was awesome!”

“ _Not all that useful_ ,” Tim noted, “ _but successful_.”

“Not bad,” Robin agreed aloud, already focused on sorting through the information they’d gotten and comparing it to his own experiences with their fellow classmates.

“Not bad?” Superboy asked incredulously. “He spilled everything!”

“Mm.”

“So who’s next?” Superboy shook off his fellow Persona’s brooding attitude in light of the prospect of righting more students’ perception of the world. “Who do we interrogate now?”

“Now we let me look into a couple of leads,” Robin replied. He appreciated the enthusiasm, but the other classmate he most needed to question didn’t need a VIP pass to the city’s nighttime spectacles, nor did she deserve to be scared out of her designer bag.

Superboy wasn’t listening though, eyes gone wide before Robin could finish, fastened somewhere over his shoulder.

Robin already knew who he was going to find behind him. He was used to it.

“I expected your harangue on Superboy a week ago,” he said as Batman stepped out of the shadows.

“ _And we just figured out how to make use of him_.”

“I’ve known about Superboy’s stay here for some time.”

_Stay_ , like Batman wasn’t going to kick him out, like he’d been _anticipated_. Robin blinked, surprised. But Batman’s mask was implacable as always. “That said,” he pinned the other Persona with the glare that still made Tim’s skin crawl sometimes, “I’ve been tolerant of your presence here thus far, but if you damage my city that tolerance will come to an abrupt end.”

“Yes, sir!” Superboy’s eyes were still wide and he was hovering again, like Batman might consider his stepping foot on the roof a form of _damage_.

“I need to talk to Robin.” Abrupt as always. Batman didn’t turn to look at him though, gaze still focused on Superboy meaningfully. In the way of meaningful glances, Batman’s ranged from nearly-undetectable-facial-twitch to brick-to-the-head. This was definitely closer to brick-to-the-head.

“Oh.” Superboy looked suddenly awkward. “Right. Tomorrow then?” he asked, glancing at Robin questioningly.

“Tomorrow,” Robin agreed. There wasn’t much more they could do tonight other than patrol and he definitely didn’t need the other Persona’s help with that. Superboy flashed him a smile before flying off, disappearing over the edge of the roof. Robin frowned after him.

Batman’s gaze settled on him then, but Robin opened his mouth before the older Persona could start.

“That’s it?” Robin asked. “He’s allowed to roam wild just like that? What about metas in Gotham? What about Metropolis’ interference?”

“You seem to have the problem contained.” Batman was as efficient as ever. Robin glowered back at him, not appreciating being saddled with said problem, even if it was his roommate and that made him the best choice to deal with it anyway.

“He doesn’t know the first thing about Gotham.” Robin shifted in annoyance at the thought. “He draws attention. He’s reckless.”

“He’s young and he thinks he’s invincible. Teach him. You’ll have time. Superboy is going to be our guest for awhile.” There it was: final confirmation. Superboy was staying. It didn’t make any sense. They never let other Personas stay in the city. What wasn’t Batman telling him? Robin stared up into the Persona’s blank lenses in dismay.

“ _I think we were just set up_ ,” Tim supplied.

“ _I think maybe we were set up weeks ago_.”

“The incident tonight…”

“I’m working on it.” Because he was perfectly positioned to work on that problem too. Batman had other open investigations, and Robin could _handle_ this. The older Persona didn’t fail to see the logic.

“If you need help, you know where to find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: The night isn't over. Tim has to deal with the repercussions of his last interaction with Conner. Conner has a serious problem, and it's not just the chronic inability to keep his mouth shut around his hot roommate.


	6. Blackout

Tim was met that night in his room by a frantic-looking Conner pacing across the rug. Tim had no sooner shut the door, hoping to avoid any drama if he feigned exhaustion and didn’t make direct eye contact, than the other boy caught him by the arm, leaning in so close in his earnestness that Tim could smell the cologne he used. This was starting to become a thing—getting manhandled by his roommate—but Conner looked absolutely desperate, like Tim might be his one last hope at sanity, and so Tim only raised an eyebrow warily.

“Dude!” Conner was nearly shaking him, like he could shake out answers. “What happened after I saved you in the hall?”

“You didn’t save me,” Tim immediately refuted, frowning, but Conner was already making impatient noises, so he elaborated. “You followed me. I let you know I wasn’t interested in your concern. You let me go.” Maybe if he was lucky, Superboy had taken over fast enough that Conner wouldn’t remember he’d socked him. Tim winced a little at the memory, but it had been necessary, and technically he hadn’t actually hurt his roommate.

“Just like that?” Conner asked, grip still painfully tight on his biceps. “What about afterwa—” He cut off abruptly, squinting suddenly at Tim, like something about being this close, the restraining hand on his arm, had struck a memory.

“ _Please don’t remember_ ,” Tim thought into the little pause, even as his roommate’s frown dissolved into incredulity. “ _Please don’t remember_.”

“Dude, did you _punch_ me?” So much for hoping.  

“I _told_ you I let you know I wasn’t interested in your concern.”

“With your _fist?!_ ”

“It seemed like the only way to get through at the time.” Tim folded his arms meaningfully, and judging by Conner’s incredulous expression, maybe he could have been a little guiltier.  

“I was _worried_ about you!” Conner burst out. “That’s what friends do! They help each other! What did you even…” He put a hand to his nose as though testing the damage. “You must hit like a girl, because I can’t feel it at all.” Something on Tim’s face must have convinced him he was about three seconds from getting punched again to prove a point, because he hurriedly raised his hands. “Let’s not test that theory. Next time could you try a little harder to work out your problems before resorting to physical violence?” Tim smiled sharply, all teeth and sharp edges.

“I’ll consider it.”

Conner shook his head impatiently though, making a gesture like he was trying to push the past two minutes of conversation into some invisible box, hurrying on with a frustrated growl.

“What happened after that though? After your lame punch?”

“It was an _awesome_ punch—clearly it addled your brain so much you don’t remember—and anyway, I don’t know what happened after that. I walked away.”

“That was it?” Conner looked disbelieving, but he was slowly shifting back into his own personal space now and out of Tim’s face. “You didn’t see me do anything else?”

“That was it,” Tim agreed. “You were just standing there.”

“I just watched you go?”

“What’s with the twenty questions? Don’t you remember?” Tim pinned him with an assessing gaze, even though he already knew what was causing the problem.

“ _They really don’t work together, do they?_ ” Robin asked, roused by curiosity over the other vessel’s problem. “ _Superboy could at least try to talk to him._ ”

“ _To be fair,_ ” Tim replied, “ _Conner probably would have been just as freaked out if he’d started hearing voices. And before you suggest it, leaving me to wake up in a cave with a creepy billionaire was only marginally less panic-inducing_.”

“ _But it_ was _less panic-inducing_.”

“The last thing I remember was talking to you,” Conner admitted, glancing away around the room, as though something there might account for the discrepancy in his memory. “Then I woke up here.”

“Maybe you should get a little more sleep,” Tim suggested gently, surprised to find that the concerned furrow of his eyebrows wasn’t completely feigned. Maybe his roommate wasn’t the humblest cookie in the confectionery, and maybe the guy _had_ ruined all of Tim’s plans for peace and quiet for the year, but underneath it all, they were the same. Conner was just as much a vessel struggling with his own problems as Tim was.

“This isn’t the first time it’s happened. I don’t remember _any_ of my Geometry class yesterday, or—”

“Conner…” Tim’s lips twisted in amusement even as he went to take a seat on his desk. “I’m pretty sure that’s normal.” He was pretty sure it was _Superboy_ , but the truth would have meant explaining how he knew, and that meant lying or outing himself as Robin. If nothing else, at least he could alleviate some of Conner’s worry.

“—that night with Callie, and that week before Clark suddenly up and decided to send me here.”

“A _week?!_ ” Tim tried to jerk his face back toward Conner midway through seating himself and gracelessly whacked into the pile of required reading for his English class instead. _The_ _Illiad_ thunked to an open-paged sprawl beside him on the desk.

“Yeah, an entire week!”

“ _What was that idiot thinking?_ ” Robin asked, alarmed. Superboy wasn’t the most considerate Persona, but he wasn’t abusive either.

“ _Maybe there were circumstances. Maybe he was hijacked by Poison Ivy or something_.”  

“ _Or maybe he just didn’t think_.” The Persona’s disapproval practically radiated through Tim’s skin, because there were plenty of reasons why a Persona might not _think_ about returning control to a vessel. Experiencing the physical world for the first time could be overwhelmingly hard to give up: the sights and sounds and tastes. Even just the ability to interact with other objects, because a Wish without a vessel was useless.

“Tim, I think I was in _Hawaii_ ,” Conner continued, voice ending in a scandalized whisper like this was some sort of horrifying secret. If Tim were anyone else, he probably would have laughed, but he was a vessel too, and this was very, very serious.

“ _Yep, he didn’t think_.”

“There are worse places to disappear to for a week,” Tim pointed out weakly, still reeling a little. He couldn’t imagine how panicked he’d be if Robin borrowed his body for a _week_.

“Not if you can’t remember it!” Conner threw both hands in the air.

“ _But why punish Conner further by sending him away from home?_ ” Tim asked.

“ _Maybe it’s not about Conner_ ,” Robin suggested. “ _Maybe it’s about Superboy_.”

“Any recent head trauma?” There was no way Superboy would have let anything damage Conner, but Tim needed time to think, needed to stall.

“No! Nothing! In fact, I haven’t picked up a single bruise or scrape in weeks. Seriously. It’s weird.”

“ _You think it has anything to do with Batman’s foreknowledge of Superboy’s arrival?_ ”

“ _What if Bruce intentionally put him here so we could keep an eye on him, and that’s why Dean Nederlander couldn’t find our request to be given a room to ourselves?_ ”

“ _A request from Bruce would have been given priority over ours. He really did set us up!_ ”

“ _We could always give the press a copy of his weekly itinerary for_ justice _,_ ” Robin suggested.

“ _Or misplace all his paperwork at WE so he has to come in and re-sign everything_ ,” Tim agreed, and allowed himself a second of vicious retaliatory satisfaction imagining Bruce stuck at his desk all day at his secretary’s mercy. Then he got back to what was really important. “ _Look, do you think Superboy would flay me if I just told Conner?_ ”

“ _I wouldn’t let him flay you_ ,” Robin immediately replied, mental voice taking on the protective growl reserved for dealing with threats to his vessel. “ _But_ _Conner might panic, and it wouldn’t go well if Superboy’s vessel freaked out and ran away or something equally unpleasant_.” Because Personas often took their vessel’s troubles personally.

Subtlety it was.

“So you’re indestructible, that doesn’t sound all that bad.” Maybe if he could point Conner in the right direction, get his roommate to figure it out for himself… But of course Conner didn’t take the hint.

“Dude, I just told you I’m the human equivalent of _Dory_ , how are you not freaking out?”

“That would be unproductive.” Maybe a larger hint. “Let me see your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I want to _bug_ it. Would you just give it here?” Tim held out his hand and Conner reluctantly dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. It was not a smart phone.

“Some of us aren’t rich,” Conner said, folding his arms defensively when Tim only blinked at it blankly for a minute.

“Right.” Time to cheat. It would have been easier with an IP address, but he was used to improvising. He opened his laptop on the desk with one hand while pulling out a screwdriver with the other. Then he set to work removing the faceplate and exposing all the little circuits in Conner’s phone.

“Ma’s going to kill me,” Conner muttered from where he was leaning over Tim’s shoulder, watching him disembowel the device.

Tim only made an impatient noise, opening one of the desk drawers and intentionally shoving his hand in far enough that Conner couldn’t see what he was rummaging for. This was where the cheating came into play. Instead of picking anything up, he materialized one of Robin’s little bugs between his fingers, much to the Persona’s amusement.

“ _What would you do without me?_ ” Robin asked, but Tim was already placing the device in with all the circuitry and screwing the plate back on.

“You weren’t kidding about bugging it, were you? _Why_ are you bugging my phone?”

“Technically it’s a tracking device. It allows the owner to locate it if the phone gets lost or stolen.”

“I know what a tracking device is!” Conner looked suddenly suspicious, and that was definitely the precursor to some comment about how Tim could track him anytime or he never knew Tim was that serious. Time to get his roommate’s brain back on track…

“Then you know that we can use it to track your location,” Tim replied patiently, “during the times you can’t remember.” He reached over to bring up a program on his computer and so only caught Conner’s expression of dawning realization through the reflection on his screen.

“That’s perfect!”

“Just make sure you keep your phone on you,” Tim stressed, even as he showed Conner the little dot on his screen that blinked out the phone’s current location in Totley Hall. He might not have been able to outright tell Conner about his Persona problem, but if he could just get the other boy to realize he was always in the same place as Superboy… Well, then they could make some progress.

“I’ll never leave it behind again,” Conner vowed. He grinned widely, enthused about this development, like the mystery was already solved. “You really are a genius.”

“You still have to black out again,” Tim reminded him, amused. “And I still think a good night’s sleep would be beneficial.” He wished he could say that would help.

“Yeah, maybe.” Conner looked dubious, and Tim understood that weight better than the other boy knew.

“Either way, all we can do is wait for now. Get some sleep and maybe the answer will _come_ to you.”

“I wish _you’d_ come for me,” Conner muttered and then immediately ducked Tim’s copy of _The Iliad_. “Hey!” he protested before Tim could throw _The Odyssey_ as well. “I want you for other reasons too!”

“Name one,” Tim threatened, “without mentioning my family’s influence!” It was always the same. People didn’t want to be friends because they liked him, they wanted to be friends because he could put in a word for them with his parents, or because he could get them places, socially or corporately. It was the same with dating. Everyone who tried only wanted to go out with him so they could brag about it. They wanted their picture in the media or they wanted his connections, and at some point it had just become easier to push them all away, to maintain the few shallow friendships he was expected to have and decline anything else.

“Ugh, no.” Conner scrunched up his nose. “That’s one of your worst traits.” The Odyssey fell safely into Tim’s lap with a surprised _whumph_ , and Conner, perhaps seeing he wasn’t going to be brained, continued. “It just allows you to act like an entitled brat and get away with it. Honestly?” Conner crossed his arms. “It’s really annoying when you do that.”

Tim was still blinking in surprise at the blatant sincerity when Robin started laughing.

“ _He totally just made you!_ ”

“ _It’s not funny!_ ” Tim protested, making a face.

“Despite that and your creepy nightly activities, you’re self-reliant, smart, and you genuinely care about others. And you’re hot.”

“ _He knows you’re a freak and likes you anyway_ ,” Robin summarized, amused. “ _That’s a keeper_.”

“ _I thought you didn’t like him_.”

“ _I’m not fond of_ Superboy _. Conner’s growing on me._ ”

“ _You just like that he tried to protect me earlier._ ” Tried, because Tim had been perfectly capable of taking care of it himself.

“ _I’m giving him points for determination. Also, he gets to you. I’ve never seen you_ flustered _before. That’s worth something._ ”

“ _A drop-kick to the face maybe. Look,_ _I’m already taken_ ,” Tim pointed out, shaking his head distractedly. “ _If he met you, he’d probably run screaming_.”

“ _I don’t know, finding out you turn into a leather-wearing badass every night might just turn him on. Besides, I’ll have you know I am a_ great _catch and he can hardly complain about_ sharing.”

“ _Keep in mind we’d have to share him too, and his Persona is an arrogant jerk_.”

“ _Not if they can’t manifest simultaneously like we can_ ,” Robin replied dismissively.

“ _Then there’s the fact that he doesn’t know about_ his _significant other either, and that’s a ridiculous amount of sharing to expect of anyone_.”

“ _Well, if you decide you want to keep him_ …”

“ _Not likely_.”

“ _I can always trip him up with a bola if he tries to run_ ,” Robin suggested, smugly conspiratorial.

“ _Because that’s such a great way to inspire trust_.”

“ _Zip tie him to the bed posts until he listens to reason_.”

“ _Stop, please, just_ —”

“ _Teach him the meaning of_ leather fetish.”

“ _We are not talking about this!_ ”

“ _Tim!_ ” That wasn’t Robin. Tim jerked his head back to Conner, wide-eyed and caught, because he’d completely spaced, and he’d just done it in front of his roommate. While he’d been arguing the merits of tying said roommate to his bed to introduce him to Robin. _Flustered_ did not begin to cover this. Judging by the heat in his face, he was pretty sure he was _scarlet_. He was going to strangle Robin later. It was all his fault Tim couldn’t remember half the conversation.

“Did I just break you?” Conner asked.

“No, I mean…” Tim splayed a hand over his face and imagined he could just not be here right now. “What were we talking about?”

“I totally just broke you! Was it the creepy activities or the hot part?”

“Conner…” Tim let his hand slide from his face and tried to regroup. “I don’t think you realize what you’re signing up for.”

“Dude, our classmates try to ambush me on a daily basis to ask stupid questions like what toothpaste you use. I’m pretty sure there’s an entire campus club dedicated to you—”

“There’s a _club?_ ” he asked, alarmed.

“Yes, pay attention. There’s a club, most of who seem to think I’m out to steal your virginity anyway”—he ignored Tim’s choking noise—“and if I can handle that, I can handle anything.” He crossed his arms over his chest when he was done, seemingly satisfied that he’d made his point. Tim thought he might have just died from TMI.

Seriously, what was _wrong_ with club supervisors these days? Maybe he’d heard wrong. He had to have heard wrong. He glanced at the time on the alarm clock like it might be the guilty party.

“ _It is way too late for anyone to be expected to think rationally_ ,” Robin commiserated, and Tim turned mechanically back to Conner, staring blankly.

“I think I might be hallucinating this entire conversation.” It was the only way to make sense of the craziness that had become reality. It really was.

“I’m not giving up.” Like that, right there. Unless they wanted something in return, there was no way anyone in their right mind would go through so much hassle. Conner’s judgment was obviously impaired. Too many Superboy takeovers. “Let me show you.”

Tim blamed the next five minutes on exhaustion and the fact that _neither_ of them should have been awake at that point or capable of making life-altering choices. Otherwise he would have seen it coming and the whole thing could have been avoided.

But it _was_ late and he _was_ tired, so when Conner suddenly pressed him back against the desk in a fervent kiss, Tim definitely did _not_ see it coming.  

Maybe it was just instinctive after fighting crime every night, but getting his face accosted unexpectedly? His knee-jerk reaction was to try and punch his roommate all over again.

The only reason Conner didn’t end up unconscious for the second time in a row, Superboy didn’t end up having to defend his vessel’s honor, and Tim didn’t end up with broken fingers for real this time was because Robin was quick enough to take control of Tim’s hands before he could do something they’d both regret. So instead of a fistful of roommate, Tim ended up in a brief physical tussle with his own body.

“ _Let me go, Robin!_ ” He growled, heaving upward against the invisible force holding his arms down, trembling with the strain of fighting it, more furious about having been restrained than anything.

“ _Wait!_ ” Robin didn’t let him go, and Tim realized belatedly that this was not an assault. Or at least not one meant to hurt him.

“ _Oh_.” What did it say that he was more used to redirecting physical attacks than impromptu kisses? His eyebrows hiked upward at the realization, startled. “ _Oh!_ ”

Robin had redirected Tim’s initial retaliation attempt by wedging their hands into the small gap separating their chest from Conner’s, and Tim shoved the other boy away sharply, disbelieving.

“Were you trying to _kiss_ me?” he demanded, incredulous. Conner blinked, obviously bewildered and still stumbling backward, because Tim was still _pushing_ him, sharp little shoves punctuating sentences.

“I thought I was succeeding?”

“You’re unbelievable!” A shove. And before Conner could misinterpret his tone, “You can’t go around kissing everyone just because you’re ridiculously attractive—”

“You think I’m ridiculously attractive?”

“—and attract the attention of anything with a pulse.”

“I wouldn’t say—”

“That’s not the point!” Tim’s hands pushed into Conner’s chest again, forcing him back another step mid-tirade. It was back up or get run over. “What if I didn’t like you like that? What if I didn’t want it?” But Conner was smiling now despite his angry roommate backing him across the room.

“So you just don’t like kissing?”

“You’re such an idiot!” Tim’s fingers curled in Conner’s shirt, dragging his roommate back into an angry version of the earlier kiss and half muffling the last word. Conner made a surprised sound, fumbling for footing on the constantly shifting terrain. It was possibly more awkward than the first kiss, all desperate frustration and force. Tim’s grip firmed determinedly.

“ _Like this_.” Robin angled them a little, skillfully guiding. It was one of those little tricks he’d probably picked up from Dick. Something sneaky. It melded him to Conner, the clash of mouths suddenly turning seamless and easy. They were still pulling Conner down into them hard, but more agreeably.

“ _Show me_ ,” Tim demanded, vexation yielding reluctantly to the prowess Robin had gained from previous vessels. The Persona immediately deepened the kiss, pressing Tim’s tongue into Conner’s mouth expertly. The other boy made a muffled noise of agreement as Tim’s tongue slid smoothly against his. Then Conner’s arms wrapped around him, one circling his waist, one between his shoulder blades, pulling him in tight. It forced him to arch his back to continue the kiss, accepting the other’s hold. A small concession. His lips were still crushed bruisingly against his roommate’s, enjoying the way his tongue occasionally brushed against sharp teeth promisingly.

Conner’s hands dug hard into the muscles of his back and he made an appreciative noise, molding further into his roommate’s hold. Finally Conner wasn’t holding back, reciprocating force for force. His tongue met Tim’s, pushing down, earning its way into Tim’s mouth. Robin let him win, let him lick them open until Tim was moaning for it.

When Tim finally struggled free, it was to pull back, wide-eyed and breathless. He hadn’t realized Conner had gotten under his skin so much. Hadn’t realized he’d started to think of the other boy as anything other than arrogant and obnoxious. He met Conner’s gaze, searching for some indication in his partner that he hadn’t imagined this meant something. That it hadn’t been a fluke.

Only Conner was openly smirking.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Tim’s own expression immediately flattened in disappointment, moment ruined. Conner had only wanted to prove he was irresistible. Had it all been about his ego? About getting the one person who didn’t fall at his feet? Tim turned away.

“Don’t expect it’ll happen again.”

“Wait! Tim! What did I do?” Conner’s face fell into confusion, but it was too late.

“ _Idiot. Idiot. Idiot_ ,” Tim repeated mentally all the way to his side of the room, though he wasn’t sure which of them he was more frustrated with: Conner, for being the arrogant, clueless playboy he was, or himself, for getting wrapped up in a meaningless kiss.

He buried his face in his pillow, willing himself toward sleep that wouldn’t come. He was still attempting to suffocate himself come morning. But the worst part was how he could still see Conner’s face when he closed his eyes and feel the press of his mouth against his bruised lips.

What was he doing falling for someone who didn’t know the meaning of serious?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, I am definitely making references to that time Superboy let himself get kissed by Poison Ivy just because she was a pretty girl. That’s exactly what that is. 
> 
> I know the school-club-created-just-to-moon-over-a-hot-boy thing is a Japanese cliche, but I still love it. Forgive me.


	7. Injury

Tim ended up with the opportunity he needed to talk to Linda almost immediately the next morning. The teacher started class with the previous night’s somber news, and the announcement of their classmate’s death instantly caused a low chorus of whispered conversations. It was still the main topic of discussion as everyone filed into the hall afterward.

“Are you alright?” Ari was by Linda’s side. “I mean, after everything they did? What are the chances?”

“Conner mentioned you’d run into some trouble with them,” Tim interjected, spotting an opportunity. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” Linda shook her head like the question was a troublesome gnat she’d been warding off all day, footsteps taking on more force. “Why does everyone think it’s some big deal? Karl and his buddies wouldn’t take no for an answer. Ari was there. She maced him in the face.”

“Yup!” Ari beamed proudly. While Tim was glad the whole affair had been more of a rumor running rampant than actual fact, it didn’t completely cross her off the suspect list. He needed to be sure.

“Well, he certainly won’t be bothering you now,” he replied offhandedly. Linda stopped still at the implication.

“I might have wanted him to learn a lesson, but not like…” She actually looked pale at the thought, finishing in a whisper. “Not like this.”

When she and Ari turned to leave, he didn’t follow.

“ _It wasn’t her_.”

“ _No_ ,” Tim agreed. “ _She doesn’t have the will_.”

When he went to check on Owen later that day under the guise of concerned lab partner, it was to find that Owen had been caught up working on a personal project all night and had come down sick on top of it. Bits and pieces of gadgetry lay scattered about his desk behind him as evidence. He looked about as exhausted as Tim felt when he got working on some project, swaying in the light from the hall.

“Well, don’t get too distracted with it,” Tim teased. “I need my lab partner back! Who knows who I’ll end up with without you!”

“Yeah, that’d be a shame,” Owen wheezed—whatever he’d come down with, he really looked a mess. “They might stick you with one of the jocks.” He leaned against the door for support.

Tim immediately sobered. Owen hadn’t been there for the news.

“One of them was murdered last night.”

“Murdered?” Owen repeated, fingers tightening where they still rested on the doorknob.

“Yeah. You should be careful.”

“You came to make sure I wasn’t dead, didn’t you?” Owen’s eyes widened a little behind his glasses. Tim stayed silent, letting him draw his own conclusions—it wasn’t entirely a lie—and Owen exhaled heavily, looking like he might just fall over on the spot.  “Thanks. For checking on me. You’re not the snob I thought you’d be.”

“I’m just invested,” he joked to lighten the mood. “Can’t let my best lab partner get eaten.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow. Promise.”

“Get better first. You look awful.”

“Get better _then_ class, check.” Despite the attempted smile, Owen still looked like he was going to collapse, so Tim helped him back to bed and made him promise to use it before taking his leave.

Finally he made his way to the group responsible for recognizing campus organizations, the student government, to demand the disbanding of a certain club. All he got for his effort was the promise that his complaint would be put on the agenda for the next meeting and a reminder—practically a lecture—on freedom of speech and dampening student spirit.

“I’ll wait for their decision,” he finally told the secretary icily when it was obvious she couldn’t do anything until his complaint had been reviewed.

The rest of the evening was spent in the library finishing the day’s homework. Halfway through a set of math equations he received the encrypted email he’d been expecting, which told him exactly what he’d known it would. There was no match in the system for the DNA sample Robin had submitted the previous night.

“ _We_ _can still cross-check it against samples from the most likely suspects_ ,” Robin suggested. Whatever Persona had attacked Steve had obviously been able to change its vessel’s shape, but there were very few Personas capable of completely altering a vessel’s DNA, and they had a sample of saliva. They were going to catch the person responsible for this, it was just a matter of hit or miss until they got it right.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tim agreed. “ _Tonight_.”

Unfortunately their plans got sidetracked when a wish for help called Robin several blocks north, and the rest of the night got derailed from there.

* * *

Conner was only marginally surprised to find he had the room to himself again when he trudged in at nine, weighed down by homework. He didn’t know what Tim did all night, but four times out of five his roommate would already be gone when he got there. However, usually that was closer to eleven or midnight, not nine, and he couldn’t help but feel that his roommate was avoiding him. Whatever. Nine was fine. It just meant he had nothing to distract him from the mountain of homework in his backpack.

He settled down with a Zesti and a bag of chips and got to work.

Two hours in his eyes were tired, his butt was numb, and his neck ached from craning over his books. A glance over at the clock told him it was only an hour until midnight. With a groan, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He didn’t notice when the lamp’s light eased into darkness, the room dissolving out of focus. Nor could he see the blue of his own irises change.

It was only a minute. That was all. He couldn’t remember when he stopped trying to rub the weariness away, but when he blinked his eyes open again his homework was still waiting for him and he was sitting upright in his chair, not slumped forward like he remembered. It was weird, but… he was tired. Way more tired than he’d been a minute ago. He picked up the neglected Zesti and took a drink, desperately needing the energy all of a sudden. He glanced absently around his empty room as he swallowed, taking in the familiar darkened shapes. Then his eyes landed on the clock.

He shot up out of the chair, choking and spitting Zesti everywhere because _when_ had it suddenly become two in the morning?!

“Are you alright?” And Conner nearly had his second heart attack of the night, spinning so fast he hit his chair and toppled backwards into his desk, swearing. When he got his bearings back, it was to find his roommate had materialized in the middle of the room, watching him with concern.  

“Tim?!” His room had been empty three seconds ago— _empty_ , nothing could convince him otherwise, he’d _just_ looked at it. “What on Earth? How did you even…?” He hadn’t heard the door or any footsteps, not a whisper to indicate he wasn’t alone, but there Tim stood, barefoot on the worn carpet, one hand wrapped around the bicep of his other arm, and blinking slowly at Conner, having somehow gotten in _and_ stripped down to nothing but boxers and a loose shirt without being noticed.

“Sorry if I startled you.” Tim grimaced apologetically, half turned away from him, like maybe he’d been caught heading back out of all things. At this time of night! In boxers! That wasn’t what was really bothering Conner though. It was something else, something about the way Tim hadn’t completely turned to face him, keeping instead the awkward angle that threw him half into shadow. Something about the way Tim still awkwardly gripped his bicep. Conner tried for a minute to place his unease, to put a name to it other than general misgivings, and pretty much failed miserably, succeeding only in getting fed up.

Maybe it was the tiredness, or the shock, or maybe it was the feel of everything slipping out of his grasp, the inability to take control of his own life when he was missing more bits of it each day.

Whatever the case, he’d _had_ it.

He’d had it with trying to understand his roommate’s weird prickly behavior, and he’d had it with looking over his shoulder, jumping out of his skin in his own room, and he was going to put an end to it all _right now_. He was going to find out what his roommate was hiding.

“I don’t know what’s up with you.” He shook his head, stalking across the carpet, determined, and now Tim looked alarmed, backing up, grip on his arm tightening defensively. “But I’ve had it with your sneaking around.” Tim hit the edge of Conner’s bed and glanced back at the obstruction, and Conner, seeing an opening, pounced, knocking him down onto the tangle of blankets. “And your freakiness.” Tim’s grip jarred loose in the tumble. “And your—”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the dark red staining Tim’s sleeve, seeping slowly outward now that there wasn’t any pressure on it.

“Dude, you’re bleeding!” He gawked for a second before reaching out, trying to push the sleeve up to see the wound that could make _that_ kind of a mess.

“It’s nothing.” Tim twisted away, trying to make the damage less obvious, but Conner wasn’t having any of that. Not now that he knew his roommate was hurt.

He caught Tim’s arm before the smaller boy could keep avoiding him and was briefly surprised by the toned musculature he could feel under the baggy t-shirt. Maybe he’d been too frustrated to notice the first time he’d had a grip on Tim’s shoulders, or maybe it was just more noticeable without the school uniform and with Tim sprawled underneath him. Whatever the reason, now with Tim’s arm firmly in his grip, examining how fast the blood was seeping up through the shirt, he was suddenly aware of how much he’d been missing beneath the long, loose sleeves of the school’s uniform. And he kind of wanted to know what else he’d been missing.

Obviously his roommate had been holding back when he’d hit him earlier. That was kind of annoying.

He’d always assumed Tim was some slender, pretty, little model heir, all sweet heat and no bite. But when he thought about it, there had been indications. Especially when startled, Tim moved with a fluid grace that set him apart from all the other corporate heirs Conner had seen cornering him—the kind of grace hard earned with strength. It was a supple, deceptive kind of control. It was alluring.

Especially on that hot, dangerous body.

 _Bleeding_ body. Focus.

“I think you need _stitches_.”

“It’s fine,” Tim replied obstinately, starting to look annoyed.

“You should go to the hospital,” Conner stressed, sitting back, arms crossed, but Tim only pushed him off entirely with a noise of disagreement.

“I have a kit. I can wrap it myself.”

“Where?”

“Under my bed.”

“Fine.” And he couldn’t believe he was giving in to this, but he didn’t want Tim to lose more blood while they argued. “Wait here.” He gave his roommate his most serious stare, because he wouldn’t put it above Tim to escape when he turned his back. Then he went to find the kit. It took a minute of fumbling one-handedly under the frame and some impatient directions from behind him along the lines of “The _other_ side of the bed!” and “No, toward the _headboard_ ,” but it didn’t take that long before he had it in hand and was striding briskly back across the room.

Tim held his hand out expectantly as he approached, but Conner ignored him, settling beside his roommate on the covers, kit on his lap.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked warily. “Hand it over.” He tried to reach out for it—an awkward attempt with his good hand wrapped tightly around his bicep again—but Conner wouldn’t have it.

“Taking care of you, you idiot.”

“ _No_ ,” Tim replied so quickly Conner thought for a second he’d screwed up worse than he’d realized the night before, so badly Tim didn’t even want him to touch him, but... “No, I know what I’m doing. Have you even done this before?”

“Not on a human.”

Tim gave him a Look and reached out for the kit, making a grab when Conner tried to keep it out of his reach. He should have been tall enough to keep it away, but Tim flat out ninja-ed it somehow, so fast it left Conner blinking.

“Hey!” he protested, realizing it was no longer in his hands, and knocked Tim back onto his bed in the ensuing tussle to retrieve it. Tim was quick for a bookworm, on hands and knees in seconds, trying to scramble off the bed with his prize, but Conner caught his ankle, pulling him back. “Oh no you don’t!” For a minute it became a wrestling match, the first aid kit lost up near the pillows while Conner tried to crawl over his smaller roommate without further hurting his arm—a task made infinitely more difficult by Tim’s simultaneous attempt to twist around under him and shove him off.

In the end, Conner had to pin him down, one hand pressing hard between his shoulder blades, his knees pressed tight against sharp hips. Tim panted breathlessly into the blankets, annoyed scowl firmly in place at the manhandling, but he wasn’t fighting anymore. Now Conner had a different problem though. He eyed the blatant, ridiculous red box critically.  

“If I take my hand off your back, are you going to stay put?” It was just far enough away, if he reached for it he’d shift his balance, allowing Tim an opening.

“No promises.” Tim’s irritated scowl took on a moment of sharp satisfaction, but he didn’t move.

“You just have to be difficult, don’t you?” When Conner was certain his roommate wasn’t going to try throwing him off again, he reached up to retrieve the kit and open it up on the blankets.

“Is it really that hard for you to accept that some people just really don’t want your help?” Because he had to be difficult even when he was cooperating. Conner ignored it.

“What happened?” He found the tape and the gauze and pulled them out. “Were the jocks downstairs picking on you again? You know you can—”

“No!” Tim interjected. He was trying to crane his neck around to see, huffing irritably. “The alcohol wipes! Clean it first!”

“I know! I was just getting everything ready!” Not like the gash was going to stay clean when it was seeping blood. “Were you in a fight?” No reaction. Fine. Maybe he could get one another way. He switched tactics. “Are you a vampire?”

“What?” Tim’s mouth stayed slightly agape after the question.

“Are you a vampire? Because you always look half dead during the day and you’re always running around at night.”

“I’m not a _vampire_ ”—Tim looked like he couldn’t decide whether to take offense to that or not—“and you should talk, always sneaking off with Callie.”

“That’s different. I’m still in the dorm, not breaking curfew, and I’m definitely not getting… _stabbed_. Seriously, what happened?”

Tim wasn’t looking at him, face turned away into the blankets, refusing to answer. He didn’t look angry though, and if he was flustered by the personal questions, it served him right for being so… stubborn. And infuriating. And impossible.

And speaking of impossible…

“What’s taking so long?”

“I know chickens that are more cooperative than you,” Conner replied, muffled through the length of gauze he was struggling to pull tight with his teeth, because seriously, how did people do this?

“I could have done it myself in half the time.” Tim squirmed impatiently, rolling his shoulder, and Conner tried not to think about the slender hips between his thighs.

“Stop that!” he protested instead, spitting out the gauze. “You’re messing up my work.”

“Conner…”

“And shut up while I’m working on you,” he said, then quickly added, “You know what I mean!” before Tim could take it the wrong way—or maybe it was the right way. “Agh, just…  I’m trying to concentrate!” Surprisingly, Tim chose to remain silent, head falling forward against the blankets, mouth curved in knowing amusement.

It was a lot easier to concentrate without the complaints or impatient shifting. Free to focus, Conner worked the wrappings tighter, fingers occasionally brushing Tim’s skin. It took him several minutes to get it right, ridiculously careful as he was. Tim didn’t seem to mind,  gaze gone distant and drowsy.

Eventually he figured out how to keep the end from coming loose and sat back, pleased, to examine his work. Which quickly turned into examining the _subject_ of his work. Tim’s eyes had slipped closed as Conner wrangled the wrappings, the dark crescent of his lashes and inky wisps of his hair stark against fair skin.

He looked good even in the unflattering, thin t-shirt and striped boxers, sprawled on Conner’s bed, deliciously disheveled by their brief tussle earlier. He could only have looked better if it had been Conner’s shirt on him.

“Well, if I’d known this was what it took to get you to sleep with me…”

Tim made a disgruntled noise, almost a growl, against the blankets and cracked heavy blue eyes to regard him petulantly. Not actually asleep then. Too bad.

“I’m not interested in people who aren’t serious.” He batted Conner away in favor of pushing himself off the furry afghan Ma had knitted and returning to his own bed—a shame really. He had to take the bloody shirt off though, dropping it carelessly into a laundry basket and baring a plethora of scars along with the same tightly compact musculature across his chest and abdomen as his arms, and that made it worthwhile.

“I am serious!” Conner protested, appreciating the skin given him with his eyes.

“Yeah, serious about doing me.”

“But you totally find me hot otherwise, right?”

“ _Goodnight_ , Conner.”

He was smiling though—exasperated smiles counted. Conner considered that a win.

* * *

It wasn’t until the next morning Conner realized what he’d forgotten in the wake of his roommate’s sudden medical emergency. The realization startled him out of any remaining sleep, louder in his head than any alarm clock. He was immediately over on Tim’s bed, shaking the slimmer boy awake urgently.

“Tim! Wake up, man, it’s happened ag—” Tim jolted up so suddenly and swiftly that he collided with Conner’s face. “Agh! Jeez!” Conner reared back, hand flying to his nose to assess the… no damage. Well. Still. “There is something wrong with you, which is saying something, because I’m the one with the memory loss, but I’m telling you, there is something _wrong with you_.”

“Yeah,” Tim replied, one hand rubbing at his forehead where they’d collided while he squinted around the room as if trying to find the fire, “I have a crazy roommate who likes to attack me at ridiculous hours in the morning.”

“ _Tim!_ ” It sounded like Focus and Help Me Out Here. “I think I blacked out again!”

“That’s called sleeping, and it’s _necessary_.” Tim fell back onto the mattress with a groan, pulling a pillow over his head in self-defense. Any other time Conner would have felt a little guilty about waking him up well before the alarm like this when he seemed to get so little sleep as it was, but the worry and nervousness in his gut was eating him up.

“This is serious!” Conner sat back, folding his arms sternly at the pillow that had replaced his roommate. “It happened last night. I forgot with you bleeding all over the place.”

“ _Alright_ , I’m coming.” Tim’s hand pushed out from under the pillow, waving him off haphazardly. “I’m coming!” Despite the lack of movement, something about the sudden stillness made Conner get the impression he was focused now, mentally gathering himself. Sure enough, when Tim sat up, letting the pillow fall into his lap forgotten, there was that little frown on his face that meant serious business. A couple minutes later Tim had his laptop open, pulling up the program he’d set to recording Conner’s location, Conner hovering worriedly over his shoulder.

“About what time did you black out?” Tim asked.

“Eleven. I don’t remember anything until two.”

Tim found the time they wanted quickly and they watched the little dot blink innocently in Totley Hall for a minute, Conner willing it to do something weird, because there was no way he’d spent two full hours just sitting there, and it would be a relief just to have that verification. That he wasn’t going crazy. That he wasn’t imagining there was something going on. That there really was.

Then the blinking dot took off in a straight line across several blocks of the city before suddenly stopping in a parking lot behind a large, rose-colored building.

“I knew it!” Conner leaned in so close to the screen in his enthusiasm that his breath practically fanned over the keys. “Did you see that? What _was_ that?” He glanced down at Tim, only to find his roommate’s gaze already fastened to his with those moonlit eyes shaded under long lashes, watching _him_. Like he didn’t need to watch the screen. Like he knew what was on it and was more interested in Conner’s reaction. “You know more about Gotham. Are there any subway tunnels through there?”

“No.” Belatedly, Tim’s gaze flicked to the screen, eyebrows raised.

“Monorails? Tramways?” It was too fast for those forms of transportation, but he didn’t know how else to explain it.  

“Conner, that was straight over six buildings.” The raised eyebrow look was now directed at him, unfazed, expectant.

“Then what? I can suddenly ghost through solid matter? Is this not weird to you at all?”

“I’ve seen weirder.”

For the umpteenth time, Conner wanted to know what Tim _did_ all night, but on the screen, the dot was moving again, distracting him. It was slower this time, heading back toward Totley, stopping twice on the way. For two hours it circled the dorm before returning to his room. Conner watched, growing increasingly more confused. The tracking device was supposed to tell him what was going on, but this new insight wasn’t helping at all. It just muddied the whole matter even more.

He glanced at Tim, hoping his roommate had some understanding he obviously lacked, but Tim only raised that same eyebrow at him quizzically.

It didn’t make any sense.

It still didn’t make any sense when, hours later right before lunch, Tim slapped the morning’s paper down on his desk with a meaningful, “Look who else was at the _Rose Theater_ last night.” One of the front page columns was an article on a group of local students who’d been caught by vigilantes defacing public property. Normally he would have been thrilled to read more about Superboy and Robin, but right just then this was terrible news. He shot Tim a horrified look across the room, mouthing, “You think I was out _tagging_ buildings last night?” Tim’s disparaged look was not encouraging.

Ma was going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I didn’t intend to make Conner look deliberately obtuse in this story. He’s expecting the worst, and so he’s assuming the worst conclusion too. Also, I think there’s a misplaced assumption that he would know if he were a superhero, so he’s subconsciously dismissing the notion. 
> 
> I might be fostering Tim’s bad snack-eating habits off on Conner here (I reject the N52’s kale chips! I reject!) because I don’t actually know what Conner’s favorite foods are. Do any readers out there know? 
> 
> Tim will tell you how he got hurt next chapter (and my beta has the next six chapters, so hopefully it'll be posted a lot sooner this time).


	8. Crying Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Explicit sexual references, graphic depictions of violence!
> 
> I apologize for the fangirls. I apologize so hard.

Tim sat cross-legged on his bed, fingers absently stroking the white wrappings Conner had wound tight around his arm.

It had been Conner’s fault in the first place. Or at least his Persona’s fault.

Superboy had shown up behind them in the middle of a knife fight, causing Robin to take a hit to make sure the movement in his peripheral vision wasn’t additional opponents moving in. Superboy had had the gall to point out that a Persona should be capable of protecting its vessel. Robin had nearly taken his staff to his face.

“ _That jerk_ ,” Robin seethed, and Tim was sure if he could have, the Persona would have been glaring at the white wrappings around his arm like they were personally offensive. Robin had been even less pleased that Conner had been the one to bandage him, as though Superboy had placed some kind of claim on Tim by letting Conner fix him or something.

Superboy had not won any points with Robin last night.

“It was an accident,” Tim replied with a tired whoosh of air. He’d been about as peeved as Robin at the time, but the bandages didn’t bother him as much as they bothered the Persona. Or maybe it was just that they bothered him in different ways. He could still remember how Conner had pinned him down, large hands needlessly gentle in their ministrations despite the restraining grip of his knees tight around Tim’s hips, the rebuke curling his mouth, the intensity in his eyes as he worked. The way Tim’s heart had been thudding in his chest…

…and dwelling on this wasn’t a good idea. With a shake of his head he put those thoughts aside.

“The important thing is that we can pare down our suspect list now.” At least one good thing had come from Superboy following them around half the night. They might not have started out on the best foot, but they had made substantial progress. Especially once they’d discovered that Superboy’s TTK was incredibly useful for unlocking windows. They’d spent a good two hours infiltrating the dorm rooms of their remaining suspects and gathering DNA samples from each.

There was a good possibility there wouldn’t be any further attacks, not in a case like this where the initial attack had been spurred by group aggression—an aggression that was dwindling since news of the murder had garnered a wave of sympathy and well-wishes. The Persona probably wouldn’t be able to survive without the vindictive Wishes for retribution and justice that had spawned it.

“ _It’s going to take days to do all the testing though_ ,” Robin pointed out. If the unknown Persona did come back, there was a good chance it would take a week or so to regain substance, so that worked in their favor.

“But school first.” Tim slid off the bed, already preparing for another long night.

* * *

Conner’s frustration with Brentwood had about reached its limits. At least Tim wasn’t actively avoiding him like the day after that kiss, but things weren’t really looking that hopeful either. Karl was outright glaring at him in the halls, his friends going out of their way to trip him up—he’d brought that one on himself, but it had been worth it. Possibly the worst part was that he’d found out all those long-legged, sexy girls who were always whispering excitedly when he passed by and watching him through their designer lashes were not what he’d thought. Not what he’d thought at all.

Conner couldn’t help but feel harried traversing the hallways anymore. If he was doing a lot of looking over his shoulder lately, it was justified. Because _girls_. He hadn’t thought girls could be scary, but as it turned out they could be terrifying. Especially in large groups.

In retrospect, visiting the vending machines was just asking for trouble. It was a public place where lots of students congregated, and with his roommate being who he was, that meant getting assaulted. Sure enough, he'd no sooner turned from retrieving his pop, than he nearly ran into the redhead behind him. _Immediately_ behind him.

“Jeez!” he shouted as he jerked back against the plexiglass front of the vending machine, not expecting to find anyone so close. Vanessa only raised one dangerously sharp, scarlet eyebrow.

“Have you done him yet?”

“What?!” Conner spluttered. “No!” She wasn’t the only one either. Two other girls stood at either hip, forming a tight semicircle around him.

“When you do him for the first time, remember to open him up gently.”

“Use your fingers first.” The frizzy, crimped blond was Mandi. He had no idea who the brunette was.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Conner choked a little, holding his hands up frantically. “I do _not_ need advice on how to— Why are we even having this conversation?” His eyes darted between the three of them, a solid wall of hips and busts hemming him in. Not the kind he could touch though. The strictly dangerous kind.

“You’ve had access to him for a week and haven’t done him yet.” The brunette looked highly unimpressed. “You definitely need advice.”

“That’s because he’s prickly!” Conner protested, still plastered against the vending machine. “Wait.” He eyed them suspiciously. “What are you playing at? I distinctly remember threats of dismemberment if I so much as looked at him last time.”

Vanessa sighed tragically.

“We’ve decided that your chances are better than ours.”

“And if we can’t have him, we’re at least going to make sure he ends up with someone who knows how to treat him right.”

They were crazy, he decided. They were all crazy.

“Now…” Mandi called their attention back to the topic at hand with a twirl of her frizzy, crimped hair. “When he lets you have your way with him—”

“No chance of that,” Conner muttered. “He only just stopped avoiding me.”

“—you’ll need to—”

“Avoiding you?” Vanessa asked abruptly, cutting the other girl off with a sharp jerk of her hand. “What do you mean?”

“ _Avoiding_ me. Never in our room at the same time. Leaving early. Always out of class the minute the bell rings.” The three girls looked at each other, exchanging surprised, meaningful sweeps of their elegant eyelashes. By the displeased glances they were shooting him between bits of silent, female code they might have been discussing how best to eliminate the competition and hide his body from investigators.

At last all three gazes turned back to him flatly. The brunette’s lips thinned, unimpressed, like she’d been promised a prince and been handed a moron.

“You came on too strong, didn't you?”

“We have so much work to do,” Mandi sighed.

“Why Tim likes you is beyond me.”

“How do you even know he likes me?” Conner asked, waiting out the wave of replies. He could not understand how the girls were coming to this conclusion. Most days he thought Tim tolerated him at best.

“He couldn't keep his eyes off you the first day.”

“He was totally mooning over you.”

“He was furious that I'd been assigned as his roommate,” Conner protested. “That wasn't mooning, that was glaring!”

“It was mooning. Lilly practically walked by him naked and he didn't even look at her.”

“Then there was that time in the hall you protected him from that jerk.”

“You mean when he punched me?” Conner asked flatly.

“Exactly! He’s never punched anyone before. We didn’t even know he could!”

“You must really get to him.”

“He’s so _cool_.”

Conner wasn’t certain “cool” was the word for it.

“If getting his attention gets any more violent, I might need full body armor.”

“ _As_ I was saying,” the redhead interrupted loudly, “Tim has decided to take interest in you. You’ll need this.” She shoved something into his hands.

“It’s the best kind. We voted.” Conner realized it was lubricant and fumbled last second, trying to push it back, but the blond on his right only plucked it nimbly out of the fray and tucked it into his pocket.

“Take your time with him.”

“Drive him crazy.”

Conner knew some girls that were driving _him_ crazy.

“Make sure he comes first.”

And if the girls weren’t crowding him before, they were now, slowly pressing him up against the vending machine. He could feel the hum of it along his spine. There were slender hands wrapped around his biceps, fingertips painted poisonous pink, pulling him in different directions. Vanessa was right in front of him, nearly pressed against him, fiery hair blocking most of his view. She dragged one hand down his chest, nails catching on well-defined muscles.

“You’re strong, so remember to be _gentle_.”

Conner had only been trying to sort Tim out for the handful of days they’d been sleeping in the same room, but from what little he had to go on, Tim didn’t like people treating him gently.

Vanessa’s fingers traced the line of his waistband, and Conner swallowed convulsively. He was starting to think this was some kind of test of his dedication, what with the way Vanessa’s hips were nearly pressed to his. No man, he decided, should ever be expected to pass up throngs of beautiful, red-haired girls practically throwing themselves at him. But he had a _goal_. And it had soft, black hair and a vicious habit of punching him in the face.

His hands just sort of clenched down around her skinny waist—he was never going to forget the way her eyes went wide—and then he was hefting her up easily, setting her gently on top of the vending machine, where she couldn’t cause any more trouble.

“I’ve got it handled,” he told her pleasantly, ignoring the way her two accomplices hurriedly fell back out of his way with little squeaks as he turned.

Then he walked away. Or he tried to.

He was feeling pretty proud of himself right up until everything went dark.

* * *

Tim was definitely not expecting his lunch to get interrupted by a series of terrified shouts suddenly erupting in his head. At least not so nearby. He lurched to his feet, fork clattering back onto his plate in surprise.

“So soon?” If he was right about this Wish originating from group hostility, it should have been incredibly difficult for the Persona to manifest right now. He’d guessed at least a week, if ever again. In his head, Robin was already focused, attention whip-lash sharp, pushing him toward the door.

“ _Maybe we were wrong, or maybe there’s someone strong enough to give it physical form unaided_ ,” Robin mused as Tim ran.

The stairwell was empty despite the shrieks resonating up from one level down. He vaulted over the rail, throwing himself into open air. Robin took over mid-fall, cape flaring, clasping over his shoulders, boots wrapping around his feet seconds before hitting the second-story landing.

Two students ran by them, screaming, nearly tripping down the stairs in their hurry.

“Help!” Robin didn’t need to hear Wishes to hear that. It was a very real sound, accompanied by ferocious growling, emanating from an open door a ways down the hallway. “Help me!” There was a wished litany of terrified sobs accompanying it.

Robin reached the doorway, saw what was inside, and just sort of _forgot_ to stop, skittering into the doorframe. There was a wolf in the room, five sizes too big and eyes glinting like distant stars in the black expanse of its fur. It was hard to look at, seeming to absorb the shadows behind it at times, molten darkness given form, yet obviously very real. Most of its snout was stuck under a desk, where Lance crouched, plastered as far back against the hardwood as he could get. The splintered remnants of a chair littered the floor.

Even as Robin lunged forward, staff solidifying mid-swing, the wolf’s teeth snapped closed high around the meaty thigh of Lance’s leg, tearing a shriek from their classmate as he was dragged from his hiding place. The staff cracked down on the wolf’s head, and the wolf turned on him with a growl, dragging Lance along. Tim’s classmate was screaming, dangling by his partially severed leg.

“ _We’ve got to get it to drop him_.”

“ _Maybe I can pry it off him_.” Robin charged, jamming the end of the staff in beside Lance’s leg like a pry bar, and threw his weight down. The wolf’s jaw only clamped savagely closed. There was a _shree_ of crushed metal and a sickening crack of broken bone, and Lance dropped free—most of him.

A devastated sort of silence filled the back of Robin’s head in the moments afterward, and he knew Tim was going to be replaying ways they could have  handled the situation better for the next week at least: his own punishment. There was no time for that now though, only time to prevent further harm.

Robin immediately moved to cover their screaming classmate, taking up a defensive stance. The wolf snarled and lunged. Only a blue and red streak collided with it mid-air, sending it crashing into the far wall with a yip.

“Finally!” Superboy’s foot stomped down between the wolf’s shoulder blades, flattening it to the floor. “Something to hit! Even if it did go down in all of five seconds.” The living-shadows of fur beneath Superboy’s foot thrashed agitatedly. The wolf visibly struggled to move for a moment, craning its neck around—the only thing it could move—and snarling. “TTK, buster,” Superboy told it smugly. “You’re not going anywhere.” The wolf’s eyes flicked to Lance, where he was bleeding out beneath Robin, lingering on him like a nice steak meal.

“He’ll know I’m coming now.” The words were a growl grating down Robin’s spine—raspy, inhuman things, especially jarring in counterpoint to Lance’s shrill screams—and he tightened his grip on the crushed staff. “That’s all that matters.” Robin didn’t think he was talking about Lance. Then the wolf bared its teeth in a feral grin and sank into the shadows beneath it, starlight-eyes winking out until the only thing beneath Superboy’s foot was the floor.

“What the!” Superboy spun around, looking for the creature he’d just had trapped, but it was gone, nothing but the shadow of a wolf and then nothing at all. He looked up at Robin wildly. “You saw that, right?”

“I saw,” Robin replied grimly, but he was already turning away, dropping to his knees into the sticky, red-washed carpet. Lance’s eyes were huge, entire body tense with strain as he dragged in too many panicked breaths. Robin estimated he would hyperventilate soon, and that… Well, at least he wouldn’t have to endure consciousness much longer.

“ _It was severed too high up for a tourniquet_ ,” Tim’s quietly clinical voice sounded in his head, taking in the damage. This was not going to be easy. Robin pressed one gloved hand down on Lance’s hip, holding him down, vanished the glove from the other and pressed Tim’s bare fingers into the meaty pulp remaining of their classmate’s leg.

His mouth thinned grimly, searching blindly for the severed artery. It had retracted up into the abdominal cavity, and with all the other torn tissue it would be a miracle if he found it.

“ _Could Superboy’s TTK get it?_ ” Tim asked. And that… that was worth trying.

“Superboy!” He pulled Tim’s blood-coated hand from the carnage. The other Persona was staring at their classmate, face blanched. He jerked when Robin called him, visibly startling from his horrified daze, wide eyes meeting Robin’s gaze. “I need your help,” Robin said, making sure each word registered, and Superboy nodded faintly.

“What do I do?”

“There’s an artery”—he pressed two fingers to its general location—“retracted when it was severed. The body naturally contracts muscles to preserve itself, but in another thirty seconds it’ll release and he’ll start really bleeding out. I need you to find it and clamp it off.”

“I’ve never…” Superboy hesitated, taking a bracing breath, during which time Robin grabbed his hand impatiently and pressed it to their classmate’s pelvis in place of his own.

“Here. Right here. Focus. You can do this.” Superboy didn’t look so certain, and any other time Robin would have enjoyed wiping that cocky look off his face. Right this minute he needed it. Rather than wait, he pushed his own hand back through the mess of warm, shredded muscle, trying again. A few seconds later a visible gush of blood coated his hand, and he grit his teeth, still digging for its source amid all the other slippery bits beneath his fingers. There was a clock slowly counting down in the back of his head, tracking the time until _bleed out_. Five minutes.

Four.

As they approached three, Robin wondered if he should have had Superboy take Lance straight to the hospital. Would he have gotten there fast enough? Would they have had any better luck despite reduced time? Or would Lance have just bled out over the city on the way there? No, he’d made a judgment call and he wasn’t going to second guess that now.

Three minutes and the blood spurting over his knees suddenly decreased.

“I’ve got it. I think. Yes!” The tight set of Superboy’s shoulders relaxed, grin shaky. But it faded quickly into a worried scowl. “There’s another one, smaller…”

“Clamp the veins off too!” Robin leaned back, out of Superboy’s space, relief fluttering in his chest.

“He’ll survive?” the other Persona asked a second later, task accomplished.

“Maybe. Get him to the hospital. Maintain pressure until told otherwise.”

“Right.” Superboy gathered their classmate into his arms, kicking the window open.

Robin stood, Lance’s blood dripping from his fingertips.

“Superboy.” The other Persona looked back at him last minute. “Meet me on the roof tonight.” He nodded toward the building across the street. They could no longer wait for DNA tests, and for better or worse, Superboy was in this mess with him.

And there was the obnoxiously bright grin he knew.

“It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always hate the pop vs soda thing across the US. I officially looked up a map, and Kansas mostly seems to call it pop, so I’m sticking with pop whenever Conner refers to it. 
> 
> Some people asked about the fan club, so here they are. This is what Conner has been putting up with.


	9. Seeing Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Explicit Sexual Content (well, semi-explicit)
> 
> Having said that, if you're not into the Persona-sex thing, skip the second scene.

They were meeting Superboy tonight. That knowledge didn’t bother Tim as much as it once would have. In fact, he was nearly looking forward to it. He wasn't even doing it because Batman wanted him to keep an eye on the other Persona. He was doing it because it gave the next victim the best odds, and because he needed to talk to Superboy anyway.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Tim couldn't help the excitement bubbling in his footsteps as he found his way to the roof of a nearby apartment complex, still in civvies. Working with Robin always gave him a sense of excitement and purpose, but he was hopeful that tonight they might actually end this series of attacks.

Robin, however, had been brooding for all the twenty minutes it had taken to sneak out and get here before Superboy, silent and agitated.

“ _Something’s off_ ,” he muttered.

Tim was already searching the sky though, watching for a familiar black shirt and red S, mind on a certain Persona who might show up at any moment. There would be a lot of explaining if Superboy showed up and found Tim instead of Robin.

“Just switch before he gets here. We can figure it out then.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Robin replied, but his physical attire had no sooner bled through Tim’s skin than the Persona startled badly, stumbling backward, arms thrust out in front of him wildly. Robin was usually the epitome of grace. It wasn’t like him to stumble, not even when startled, especially not when just standing at ease on some rooftop. But Tim could feel it too: the difference, the changes in the leather patterns over his skin, the way it all fit. Robin’s eyes jerked down, arms spread wide in surprise, and he instantly stilled, muscles tensing at the sight. Tim wasn’t sure which of them was more startled.

“ _What happened?_ ” he demanded. “ _What is this?!_ ”

He was in red. Vibrant, blood red.

But Robin only stood there mouthing “Red” in surprise, seemingly transfixed by the changes marching across his arms, and this was really not the time to space out.

“ _What did you do?_ ” Tim asked again. And Robin seemed to gather himself a little.

“You changed me,” he replied, wondering.

“ _I did no such thing!_ ” He would definitely have known.

“You changed me, and I’m not even your Wish.”

“ _I’m telling you, I didn’t!_ ” Tim was still trying to see the extent of the damage. Robin turned helpfully toward a bank of dark windows. The vigilante reflected back at them was not the one he remembered. Gone was the green that had so dominated the Persona’s arms and legs. Instead, sleek black gloves wrapped around his forearms, weighted with dangerously spiked vambraces. His mask had turned black too. Red covered his legs and the entirety of his arms, leaving nothing bare or vulnerable.  The utility belt clasped securely around his waist was weightier, more pronounced.

“I can’t be part of you and not be changed by you,” Robin countered, strangely accepting now that he’d gotten a good look. How was he not unnerved? “For _some_ reason you think red and black is a good color scheme now.” That was definitely a dig. Was that smug tone Robin’s way of laughing at him? Did the Persona know something Tim didn’t?

It was on Tim’s mind to tell the Persona exactly what he thought of said color scheme when Superboy dropped down in front of them, all black shirt and red S-shield—the dopey _not_ -costume that annoyed him so much—and sudden horror washed over him at the sight. The _realization_.

Tim’s half-voiced retort cut off with a strangled moan.

“ _Oh hell, no_.” Tim had never been more glad that Robin’s steely cool demeanor was in charge as right just then, because this was a catastrophe. “ _You have to change back!_ ”

“ _I can’t_.”

“ _What do you mean you can’t? You just have to put the green back on!_ ”

“ _You made me this way. It’s on you_.”

“ _I can’t change us back!_ ” Tim replied, well and truly panicking. “ _I don’t know how I did it in the first place!_ ” His volume increased with his mounting agitation. Superboy was already looking at him curiously, and Tim felt incredibly exposed for being completely covered in leather. “ _We can’t be seen like this!_ ” he hissed. “ _What are people going to think? What’s_ Batman _going to say?!_ ” There was no way the city’s primary protector wasn’t going to take one look at him and put this one together. But Robin only hummed.

“ _That I have an awesome vessel_ ,” he replied.

Superboy assessed the change in his fellow vigilante with a smug, slow perusal with too-blue eyes—down and up, unaware of any internal conflict.

“Nice colors. What’s with the change?”

“ _Don’t you dare_ ,” Tim hissed viciously. As it was, he could tell Robin’s mouth— _his_ mouth—was crooked in amusement.

“It’s strategic. The green was too blatant.” Robin raised an eyebrow as if daring the other Persona to contradict him, coolly covering for his vessel. Because there were tactical reasons for wearing more black, of course. No wonder Robin wasn’t upset by the change. Tim felt some of the Reasons This Was A Disaster fade from his list.  

Still, it was a really good thing Superboy wasn’t the detective.

“Simplifying. I approve. You looked like a circus before.”

“Considering who originally designed me, that’s not too far off.”

“So what are we doing tonight?”

“Watching Karl.”

“Babysitting,” Superboy corrected sourly. “Worse, we’re babysitting Mr. Jerk-face.”

“He’s the most likely to be targeted, and if you’re still determined to help...”

“Yeah, yeah.” Superboy settled on the brick ledge, ankles crossed, mock reclining imperiously on air. Robin settled into his own crouch, materializing a pair of binoculars. It wasn’t hard to find Karl’s room, the drapes pulled haphazardly over half the window. The shadows inside lay flat and dead, unmoving. Just the way they should be.

When he gave the binoculars a break five minutes later, it was to find Superboy’s attention somewhere near his hips.

“We’re supposed to be watching _Karl_.”

“But you’re so much easier on the eyes.” Superboy grinned wolfishly, looking him over like he was a particularly fine piece of art. “You should wear my colors more often.” Robin chucked his binoculars at him, which only bounced off uselessly, but it did drag those too-blue eyes back to his.

“Could you please focus?” The binoculars rematerialized in his hand a second later.

“I am one-hundred-percent focused.”

“On my ass!”

"There are just so many things I could do to your a—"

"Superboy!"

"I mean, I bet I could get you screaming my name in less than five min—"

" _Superboy!_ " Exasperated didn't begin to cover this. He was not going to chuck his binoculars again. He was not. " _What are the chances of getting you to Wish for some Kryptonite right now?_ "

" _Better than usual_ ," Tim muttered. " _But I'd still have to practice first with the real thing_."

“We almost lost someone today, and we have a job to do,” Robin replied aloud. “It’s serious.”

“Excuse _you_ , Mr. Dark and Gloomy, _I_ saved someone’s life. The nurses said he wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t been the one to bring him in.” His fists pumped into the air, V for victory.  “It was epic!” Robin’s own thoughts on the matter ran more dour, but, he realized, Superboy hadn’t been there for the first half and he _had_ done a fairly amazing job of salvaging the situation. There was no point in ruining his high.

"Still, we're here to make sure nothing happens to _Karl_." He was the only one of the three jocks always badgering Tim who hadn’t yet been attacked, and Robin would bet Batman himself Karl was next.

“Whose heart rate right now is fifty-five beats per minute,” Superboy replied, rolling his eyes. “There is nothing going on in there. If I have to be stuck here listening to that jerk breathe all night, I can at least enjoy the sights.”

Robin was already lamenting his decision to let the other Persona help.

“ _At least he’s actually paying attention_ ,” Tim commiserated. Beside them, Superboy tilted his head suddenly, eyes narrowing suspiciously on Robin’s face.

“There’s something familiar about you…”

“ _Maybe too much attention_.” Robin’s lips thinned. He intentionally lifted the binoculars, focusing on Karl and thereby blocking most of his face by doing their job.

“I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“I have common features for Gotham.”

“No, I’ve definitely seen you somewhere.” Superboy leaned forward intently. “Why don’t you remove that mask…”

“Says the one who’s going to get his vessel killed because he’s not bothering to conceal his identity,” Robin retorted, and if the deflection was obvious, it didn’t matter. Superboy didn’t hesitate to defend himself. He immediately straightened, affronted.

“I can protect him!”

“ _Nice save_ ,” Tim interjected, watching Robin successfully divert the other Persona right into a conversation they needed to have anyway.

“Does it matter?” Robin asked, giving the binos a break. “Once people know who he is he’ll always be a target. Do you think that’s what he wants?”

“Dude, you want me to hide this charming face? Not gonna happen. Besides, it’s not like we have any say over our design.” That was true. Tim might have more luck talking to Conner about a disguise than affecting Superboy.

If Conner had any idea he had a Persona.

“Your vessel is obviously fond of his own appearance,” Robin replied.

“With good reason.”

“ _It’s like talking to a brick_ ,” Tim noted.

“ _But_ you _think he’s a hot piece of ass too_.” Robin apparently couldn’t help needling him a little. Robin was allowed to find the situation amusing though. He wasn’t the one who’d subconsciously changed color schemes to match Superboy’s.

“ _My subconsciousness’ color choices do_ not _count._ ” He was never going to get over the mortification. Robin only smirked.

“Why don’t you talk to Conner?” the Persona asked aloud. “You must realize how much he’s freaking out.”

“Just how much have you been watching me?” Superboy asked warily.

“I like to be thorough.”

“I could give you a more thorough—”

“ _Superboy_ ,” Robin reprimanded.

The other Persona huffed and leaned back, obviously uncomfortable with the personal turn of topic.

“I’ve panicked him enough without adding all of _this_ to his worries.” Superboy gestured to the dark city and vigilante-ing in general.

“It might be a comfort just to know he’s not losing it.”

Superboy’s gaze actually turned toward Karl’s room for once, frowning contemplatively into the distance between, and Tim thought maybe that would be the end of the conversation. Robin had just returned to focusing on the dark room across the street himself when the other Persona spoke up.

“Does yours know?” he asked at last, not looking up. Robin didn’t have to ask what he meant.

“Telling him was nearly the first thing I did.”

“And he’s alright with it? He didn’t freak out?”

“There might have been a little freaking out.”

“ _You left me with a creepy old man!_ ” Tim interjected. “ _That was a completely rational response to kidnapping_.”

“But after the initial shock he was excited,” Robin continued.

“What if Conner doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

Robin snorted. “You’re practically his clone. There’s no way.”

“You’re right,” Superboy replied, just a hair too forcefully, like he was trying to convince himself. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against empty air like he was lounging comfortably in some hammock on a beach, not dark, grimy Gotham. “There’s no way.” Robin didn’t buy the act for a second, but he let the other Persona have his peace. He’d made Superboy think about it, that was the important thing.

Fifteen minutes later though, Superboy was back to sitting upright,  feet hanging over the edge of the roof, swinging restlessly.

“We can’t both stay up all night,” he complained. “We’ll exhaust our vessels.”

“We could take shifts,” Robin suggested. Tim was used to staying up, but Conner definitely wasn’t. Besides, there was no proof anything was going to happen tonight and they couldn’t both be worn out tomorrow.

“I’ll take first shift.”

“Then I’ll relieve you at three.” Robin stood up, vanishing the binoculars permanently. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Superboy only waved him off though, so he headed across the roof away from the school. He’d have to circle back around and sneak in without Superboy noticing if he wanted to allay suspicion. It was manageable, but time consuming.

“ _We could use this time to do the DNA testing_ ,” Tim suggested as soon as they were out of sight, and that was true, but... Robin shook his head.

“No. That could take days. You’re no good to me dead on your feet, and it puts us too far away to help in time.”

“ _Okay, what’s wrong?_ ”

“Hm?”

“ _You never suggest resting if there’s work that could solve a case_.”

Tim was definitely more difficult to deflect than Superboy. The boy knew him too well.

“ _Is this about the new design?_ ” Tim asked, when Robin failed to respond immediately. “ _Because I swear I—_ ”

“No,” Robin denied, refusing to let Tim feel any more embarrassed. Especially since he’d meant those changes with all his heart. He’d meant them, otherwise Robin would never have seen them. He set his own worries aside. “No, I’m proud to wear the colors you picked out.”

The silence told him Tim didn’t entirely believe him, and he was going to have to do something about that. Prove he meant it.

“We’re heading back because I want to talk to you about something important.” At least Tim was too preoccupied with color schemes and external changes to notice anything less visible, and Robin intended to get Tim’s mind off even that as soon as possible.

* * *

 Forty-five minutes later Tim hit his bed hard, flat on his back, with an _oomph_ , as though he’d been pushed. And maybe in some ways he had. Robin had stripped off him in the fall, leaving him in shirt and jeans on the sheets. He stared up at the ceiling breathlessly.

“What’s this about?”

“ _You changed me_.”

“Yes. To _his_ colors. I’m sorry. I—” He paused uncertainly to assess Robin’s mood, the gloved hands nimbly sliding under his shirt to explore his chest, but there was only awe. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“ _That you marked me? That you made me yours? Tim, I_ love _it_.” One black-clad thumb scraped a nipple roughly. “ _You’re the only one who has ever actively changed me. Repeatedly. Your force of will is overwhelming. And to work with you, to be your Persona, to have the very particles of my being changed to suit you…_ ” Robin shivered, an odd, ripple-like sensation under Tim’s skin that momentarily tightened the gloves covering his hands. The same thumb scraped against him again, back and forth twice more, just until his nipples were hard, aching for the attention.

“Isn’t it terrifying?” Tim asked breathlessly, squirming as nimble fingers pinched and rolled.

“ _That you could remake me with a thought? Yes. Terrifying, but also exciting. I chose you for a reason. I’d only enjoy the touch of your will_.” A harder pinch, making him gasp and jerk under the Persona’s talented fingers. “ _When I think about all the things you could do to me_ …” Leather rippled ticklishly over his abs, down to stroke his hips beneath his jeans. There and then not. It solidified insubstantially a second later along the outside of his thighs, and disappeared again. Brushes of leather like hands he couldn’t quite press into, gone before he could even try. Illusory, teasing caresses.

Like he needed anymore reminders he loved a phantom.

The hand Robin raked slowly down his abdomen though, chasing those illusory caresses, was all too real, solid and startling in the wake of illusive leather. It unfastened his jeans and pushed them off, sliding back up his thigh afterward.

Tim was used to Robin’s touches by now and he’d been naked in front of him nearly daily, so why was there something so embarrassing about the sight of that black glove splayed possessively over his bare hip?

“ _There’s nothing wrong with these colors_ ,” Robin said, shifting the patterns of them over his skin.

“I don’t even know why…” why he’d chosen to put _Robin_ in them.

“ _Despite some flaws, he’s honest and straightforward and he has a good heart. You like that. It doesn’t help that he’s hot_.”

“I’m starting to think”—Tim arched as Robin’s rough gloves skimmed along his open thigh—”you know me better than I do.” Robin hummed.

“ _Do you have any idea how much I want you? Your intellect and ingenuity and will?_ ” Robin paused, and swaths of leather spread up Tim’s inner thighs—vibrant, distracting red where it had once been green. Tim was never going to get over it. “ _Do you have any idea how_ valuable _you are? Tim, I don’t ever want to let you go_.”

“Then don’t,” Tim managed, “ _please_ , just… I’m yours. I’ve only ever _wanted_ to be yours since I first saw you.” The red swaths tightened, spreading his legs, opening him up for the Persona’s perusal. The colors on his skin were still distracting, like Conner had claimed him somehow. He turned his head into the soft shadows of the disheveled sheets, away from the sight, trying to hide the blush of embarrassment. He could feel little leather swirls curl tight into the sensitive join of thigh and groin though, making him squirm, and that was all Robin—a feeling uniquely associated with him. Then Robin’s mask solidified across his face, dragging his gaze back down to the Persona’s work with a gasp.

“ _Stop looking away from me_.” Robin’s voice was authoritative suddenly, his grip firm, leather completely solidifying everywhere it touched him. “ _I’m going to make you admit that you like me in red and black, with your body if not your voice_.”

Tim would have had something to say to that, but he was preoccupied as the leather spread, completely encasing his hips and rear, nearly down to his knees.

“ _What do you think?_ ” The Persona’s voice turned suddenly sly, _knowing_. “ _Don’t his colors look good between your thighs?_ ”

“Robin!” Tim gasped, reproach pitched too high and breathless as the Persona’s glove wrapped around him, black like Conner’s favorite shirt. He couldn’t _not_ make that connection now.

“ _It’s what you’re thinking. You’ve been embarrassed about it since you first saw me like this. But you’re going to be honest with me now. Honest with yourself_.” Robin stroked him, leather-clad hand between his legs, neatly undoing his defenses. “ _These colors turn you on_.”

“Only when you use them like this,” Tim huffed. Robin’s leather overlay had always been intimate, covering nearly every inch of him like a second skin, but especially now that he associated it with Conner too.

“ _But you’re thinking about him now._ ”

“Yes.” Tim’s teeth clenched around the response.

“ _Good, because_ I’m _thinking about him._ _The touch of those hands, rough from all that hard labor he sometimes talks about_.” Rough like Robin’s gloves were on him now, the underside textured for better grip. “ _The way they’d feel on our skin…_ ” Leather handprints tightened on his hips, making him jerk into the Persona’s hold. The heat spreading beneath his skin was undeniable. “ _The way it’ll feel when he opens us up for the first time_.”

“Jeez!” Tim’s breath hitched, and Robin tightened his grip, stroking until Tim was arching for it, cohesive thought stripped away. An especial sort of vulnerable he was only ever for Robin. Splayed out on the bed, reduced to near wordlessness, seeking completion with the stretch of his toes and the arch of his back and the jerk of his hips.

“Want…” Tim moaned, swallowed, tried again. “Want _you_.” Leather curled tighter, ticklish, into the sensitive join between thigh and pelvis for that, Robin’s contentment bleeding through. There were leather handprints holding him open suggestively, making him shiver.

“ _We could always both do you…_ ” Robin suggested, voice dropping low, thumb simultaneously rubbing across Tim’s slit _just_ right. Tim gasped, clenching at the thought. His hips hitched up hard and he came in Robin’s hold, shuddering.

After he’d cleaned up, he lay sprawled and languid, content to allow the soft little strokes of leather petting his left hip lullingly. Robin’s hum in his head was pleased.

“I told you you’d tell me you liked me like this.”

* * *

 Robin was gazing absently out the dark window sometime later, preoccupied with the night’s turn of events. It wasn’t until he shifted restlessly, rotating sore shoulders back into the downy mattress, that he realized he hadn’t heard from Tim in at least fifteen minutes.

“Tim?” When there was no immediate reply, Robin pressed his fingers against Tim’s mouth, bit carefully down on his fingertips—just the tiniest sharp burst of pain. “Tim?”

“ _Mm?_ ” Tim asked groggily, and Robin smiled fondly at the realization.

“Nothing.” He pursed his lips against Tim’s fingers and mentally coaxed the boy back toward sleep. “You must be exhausted between studying, this new attack, and coming with me all night. Get some rest. I’ll take care of you.” Then he did something he hadn’t done in awhile, not since they’d started working together efficiently, melding in mind and mission: he held Tim’s consciousness down. He didn’t think the boy would notice when he was already so nearly under anyway. It was ridiculously easy.

He just didn’t want Tim to worry about anything else right now, not right after he’d finally accepted the new color scheme. Besides, Robin needed a few minutes to really look at the changes himself, _all_ of them. Especially the one he could feel like warm breath against his back. He needed to come to terms with what they meant himself before he could tell Tim. And maybe he just needed to pretend for a few more minutes that this time he could stay.

He considered the boy responsible for a minute, starting with the easiest change to accept: the new attire. He let his fingertips trail down the long, slender line of Tim’s throat thoughtfully, slowly mapping Tim’s exposed body on the sheets. Tim’s own skin silken beneath his fingertips.

It always took his breath away a little, the luxury skin afforded him, and the corresponding marvel of linen against his legs and water over his hands and bullets through muscle. Robin had tried to protect Tim from that once, cocooning the boy’s consciousness in layers of soft darkness, but Tim had been more furious about the deprivation of awareness when he came to than anything, and so Robin had agreed to share it. It was beautiful anyway, even the throb of abused muscles, all of it. _Tim_ was beautiful.

Robin let his hands run reverently down the bare length of Tim’s torso, tracing the R where it would have pressed against Tim’s chest and drawing the lines of his own physical form on Tim’s body, shivering at the touch. It was as he started tracing the belt low over Tim’s hips that his musings turned back to the latest changes there. The recent redrawing of his physical manifestation in red was strangely troubling.

While it did bring a sort of awed pleasure discovering Tim had reshaped him, this was the first time Tim had shown any visible sign of interest in the people around them—in modeling Robin after them—and Robin found himself vaguely… _jealous_. He let his hand slide between Tim’s thighs, musing fondly over their last interaction. There was a part of him that wanted Tim all for his own, wanted _this_ , the feel of Tim in his hand—Tim’s hand technically—consciousness pitched high in pleasure. He didn’t want to give up the time they had together, even though he knew it was better for the boy to be with other people, even if he knew it would be amazing to _be_ with other people.

Even if that included annoyingly arrogant, far-too-attractive-for-their-own-good roommates.

Conner was a good person though, and it wasn’t Conner he was worried about losing Tim to.

The magnitude of the change itself was its own warning. It was such a comprehensive change, so all encompassing. Tim frequently changed small things, reorganizing his utility belt, adding and removing and trying new gadgets. No one else had ever done it so often or with such deft proficiency as Tim. But _this_ … This was on another scale. Robin could feel the change all the way to his toes.

It was one thing for a vessel to influence his design when they initially joined, to have the new vessel’s Wishes layered over his own. That was almost inevitable. But to exact such a change after so long? It was unheard of.

It meant Tim’s perspective of the world was changing, and the things he wanted from it, his role in it. He was no longer the little boy content to chase after Batman. He was seeking his own identity.

Tim thought Robin was going to leave him behind one day, that Robin would move on without him, like he’d had to with Dick, like he’d been forced to with Jason, but Robin was suddenly certain that he’d be the one left behind. If he hadn’t claimed Tim as his own, Tim would have already had his own Persona by now. Really, it was amazing the boy had held onto him this long. He was losing Tim by degrees.

And that wasn’t the only thing he hadn’t told Tim about.

“ _You won’t be compatible for much longer_.” It was a whisper. The first time he’d actually heard it. And  he was doubly glad he’d decided to keep Tim under.

“I know.”

“ _Robin_ …”

“Not yet.” Robin closed his eyes and held on tighter. He was ridiculously happy about the red and black, the evidence that Tim was trying to hang onto him, that he meant so much to the boy, but it wasn’t going to be enough. “I need you,” he growled, ferociously protective in that instant despite how hard it was to get the words out, “to keep him safe. Afterward.”

“ _Always_.”

Tim tossed, murmuring sleepily where Robin held him down, and Robin couldn’t allow that. Not when the boy needed rest so badly.

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand, drawing the blankets up over them instead, making sure Tim wouldn’t be cold.

Then he slipped back into the darkness, allowing Tim’s body to finally rest.


	10. Looking for Trouble

The night was mostly a dud. A really long, boring dud, wherein Karl got all the sleep he could possibly need and certain vigilantes spent the night trying not to fall asleep on the roof across the street. It wasn’t until the next morning, Tim sneaking back in from his shift before Conner could notice his absence, that something caught his attention.

Conner had left a bunch of his stuff out on his nightstand. Tim almost glanced past it, but… There was an open DVD case—the first season of that silly tv show Conner loved—with a girl on the front framed by two dark wolves half-vanishing into thick shadows. Very familiar looking wolves.  It was like the answer had just been left there for him.

“ _What if it’s not someone Karl’s group offended?_ ” Tim asked excitedly, picking up the DVD case to better examine it. “ _What if it’s someone_ protecting _the person they offended?_ ”

“ _A friend_ ,” Robin replied, considering Tim’s evidence and making the same leap. “Callie. _You think it’s Callie_.”

“ _I think she could have been angry enough on Linda’s behalf. She’s willful enough to have created a Persona, and didn’t Conner say something about her liking Wendy the_ Werewolf _Stalker?_ ”

“ _So her Wish could have taken the form of a wolf. Fair enough assumption. We need to find her_.”

Callie wasn’t in class that morning though. Linda said she’d come down sick the previous evening and cut a few classes to go lie down, but she wasn’t in her room when Tim checked. If he hadn’t been suspicious already, he definitely was now.

“ _We’ll do a sweep of the entire dorm after curfew_ ,” he decided finally. If nothing had happened to her, she’d have to be available then, and if she was involved with the wolf, then staking out Karl’s room was still the best chance of catching them both.

* * *

In the end they didn’t find Callie. No one had seen her recently. They did run into several other classmates, including Owen late that evening, bent over a mechanical device in one of the study rooms, surrounded by an array of screwdrivers and pliers and assorted gadgetry. Since they hadn’t been able to track down their only suspect, Tim decided to take a moment to check in on his friend.

“You’re looking better,” he said, heading over. He’d expected the other boy to be stuck in bed for at least a week considering the state he’d been in last time.

“Thankfully just a twenty-four hour bug,” Owen replied, glancing up briefly to see who’d interrupted him before turning back to his work, focused.

“What are you working on?” Tim leaned across the table to look at the oval device. “Still that same project?”

“Yeah. It’s been a real pain to calibrate.” Tim watched him for a minute, trying to make sense of the mess of wires. The setup looked vaguely familiar.

“What does it do?”

“It detects manifestations of human desires,” Owen replied, still more engrossed in his device as he tightened something down with a tiny screwdriver.

“Personas?” Tim asked, stiffening. “It detects Personas?” Owen glanced up at him, blinking in surprise perhaps that he hadn’t had to explain.

“Yeah,” he said.

“ _That’s dangerous_ ,” Robin muttered. “ _There are some nasty things in human hearts. He could find something bad_.”

“ _He could find_ you,” Tim replied, grim. Now he recognized more of the layout in the device. Bruce had tried something similar once, but had long since abandoned it. Even knowing a Wish existed, or how strong it was, it didn’t help locate the right one. There were a surprising number of unmanifested Wishes.

Still, there were some components in Owen’s version he didn’t recognize, and he didn’t like it.

“There’s something attacking students,” Owen continued, turning back to his device to continue making adjustments. “People are saying it appeared out of thin air. What else could it be but a Persona?”

“You shouldn’t go looking for something like that,” Tim warned. This was serious. He had to get his classmate to understand. Not only because Owen could become a casualty, but because it would be too easy for him to mistake Robin or Superboy as the threat based on their Wish’s strength.

“Someone has to do something,” Owen replied distractedly.

“ _Great,_ ” Tim thought. “ _Conner mentions needing more people to stand up for themselves and now everyone’s throwing themselves into it_.”

“ _He obviously wasn’t thinking about all the little old ladies trying to defuse bombs_.”

“ _Or friends hunting down murderers_ ,” Tim added grimly. If everyone who was willing to stand up and fight could create an invulnerable Persona, that was one thing. But it wasn’t that easy. That was why the city had firefighters and police, and why they still lost them.

“ _The last thing we need is to have to watch out for Owen too_.”

“Someone already is. There’s no way Batman doesn’t know about this. Let him do his job.” And _now_ Owen was looking at him, really looking at him, attention caught, frowning in consternation.

“All Personas should be eliminated.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Robin protested. “ _That’s just rude!_ ”

“Batman and Robin are _good_ Personas! Personas who protect people!” Tim could feel the scowl pulling at his eyebrows. “You can’t tell me you think the city doesn’t need Batman…”

“Even Personas like Batman need a host. Every night they’re out there, they’re using someone, putting someone in danger.”

“Even if that someone Wished for it?”

“No one ever _Wishes_ to run into danger,” Owen replied. “More likely, Batman is just the combined Wishes of Gotham’s citizens wanting someone to save them, stealing somebody’s husband, maybe somebody’s _father_.” This was going nowhere good fast.

“ _That’s partially true_ ,” Robin pointed out. “ _Gotham’s citizens did help create me_.”

“ _Yes, but you didn’t take me unwillingly_.”

“ _True_ ,” Robin was definitely grinning, “ _you were undeniably willing last time I took you_.”

“ _Not the point!_ ” Tim flushed, ignoring Robin’s warm laughter.

“And what happens when his vessel is damaged beyond repair?” Owen continued, words an unwelcome reminder of the seriousness of the situation. “Does he just move on to another? There’s no way one man could have survived everything Batman has. Those vigilante Personas you revere could be responsible for the deaths of a dozen innocent people by now and we’d never know. They’re like parasites! All of them!”

“That’s not true.”

“ _I could talk to him_ ,” Robin offered. “ _Explain_.”

“ _Because a shadowy midnight visitor lurking in his room is sooo going to bring him around_.”

“We don’t need them to protect us,” Owen replied obstinately. “We need to fix the problem ourselves.”

“And you’re going to fix it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too dangerous to do alone. At least tell one of the professors. If your tech does what you say it does, it could really help people if it gets into the right hands.”

“I never took you for a coward, Tim.”

Tim grit his teeth. How could he get Owen to drop this? Finally, he ripped his bag open and grabbed a fistful of the newspaper still inside. Not that they’d helped Conner much. He was striking out on making people see sense lately.

“You’re my friend. I don’t want your dead body to be tomorrow’s headline.” He slammed the paper down on the desk so the front page was glaring up at them, the one with the picture of the roped off dorm room and swimming pool side by side. “It’s not cowardly to keep yourself safe. Even the good Personas you hate so much give their vessels _some_ kind of protection before they run into these things.” He paused, drawing a steadying breath and letting the tension drain away. “At least think about that.”

He shouldered his backpack, satisfied that Owen’s gaze was still riveted to the paper in front of him, if unhappily. It was fifty-fifty whether he’d listen, but Tim had done everything he could for now. His own unhappiness with the situation manifested in his abnormally tight grip on the strap over his shoulder and the heavier tromp of his feet down the nearly empty hall, most of the students having long since found better things to do than hang around in the corridors. It wasn’t enough that he had to catch a killer, deal with Superboy’s effect on Conner, hide injuries, and keep up with classes, now he had to keep an eye on Owen too.

He turned suddenly down a deserted hall, the lights here a little dimmer, only to stop in front of one of the darkened windows lining the left wall. The shadows sucked at the other side of the windowpane.

“ _Need to burn some frustration?_ ” Robin asked knowingly.

“Agh, yes.” Tim smiled into the darkness beyond the glass, ready for it. Maybe the prospect of vigilante work was even more exhilarating than usual because he had something to prove tonight, even if he was only watching Karl sleep again.

He stashed his backpack in one of the little studying nooks available throughout the building, shoving it unceremoniously under the uncomfortable little sofa where he could retrieve it later. That done, he stepped back into the shadows afforded by the angles of the walls, out of view of any windows, and felt Robin grip him. It was always a little different depending on circumstances. When they were in a hurry, it was a rush that left Tim feeling like the breath had been knocked out of him, and when they were working with Nightwing or Batman, it bordered on functionally artistic, and when they were alone…

It was an increase in the weight of boots wrapping protectively around his feet, the press of leather sliding almost sensually up calves and covering knees, constricting sinfully slow around thighs and groin in a way that had Tim sucking in a breath, rocking backward hard with a choked, “Robin!”

“ _Yes?_ ” the Persona asked cheekily.

Tim didn’t bother reprimanding him. He distantly felt the wall thud against his back, turned his head a little breathlessly into the kiss-like press of Robin’s mask across his face, let the Persona claim him inch by excruciating inch, between his fingers and across his palms, along the underside of his arms. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back wordlessly as the slide of leather finally coalesced around his throat, locking snugly into place.

When his eyes opened again, he wasn’t the one who’d opened them.

Robin reached up to push back ebony locks of hair with one hand, stepping away from the wall.

“He’s partially right, you know. I am putting you in danger.” He turned, starting stealthily toward the closest exit.

“ _I Wished for this. I’d be out here doing it even without you, just… without you it’d be harder_.”

A minute later they were standing on the edge of the roof.

“ _Robin, I_ …” Tim frowned into the cold wind, into the waiting city. “ _I’m glad you’re with me_.” It was hard to tell, but Robin’s grip felt snugger than usual, the suit and mask seeming to press possessively tight.

Like a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short. There's a _possibility_ the next chapter will be posted a little early to make up for it, but I can't say for sure, since I decided to make some last-minute changes.


	11. Sacrifice

The shriek was so loud in Tim’s ears it might as well have been right next to him. He stumbled into the wall, shaking his head against the awful ringing echo. Not that it did any good. His bag slid from his shoulder, lost on the ground as he jerked his head up, gaze raking the unbroken white of the wall for the sign, the indicator that told him where he was. A room number or office marker or anything. Because he needed to be on the other side of that wall right _now_.  He caught the sign for the boys’ showers and struggled up.

It was mid afternoon and most classes had gotten out twenty minutes ago. He’d been on his way back to his room, contemplating options that didn’t involve observing Karl’s sleeping habits for the third night in a row. Grimly, he thought that might not be a problem now.

“ _In. Now_.” Robin’s voice snapped in his head, cutting through the remaining disorientation, but he was already pulling himself around the dividing wall sheltering the showers, out of sight of anyone happening to pass by. Robin’s uniform bled over his skin between one step and another, the extra weight of cape and Kevlar especially heavy just then.

Robin grit his teeth grimly as they rounded the next bend into the shower room.  He was immediately hit with the warm, mugginess that always followed one of the fitness classes letting out, even after all the students had gone. It stuck to the skin of his face, made his breaths heavy.

There was no need to find Callie anymore.

She was sprawled on the concrete, hair and clothes soaked, but only with water. There were huge puddles of it on the floor. Robin couldn’t see any damage from the doorway, but he couldn’t just run to check on her either. Not with the other occupant in the room.

Owen was standing there, worriedly watching the girl on the floor, water draining past his sneakers. Clutched in his left hand was the same device Tim had seen him working on earlier, now complete. It was definitely not what Robin had expected to find at the end of the screaming, and he didn’t like the implications one bit.

Had Owen’s device actually worked? Had he gone after the wolf and gotten Callie?

“Owen, what have you done?” he asked, stepping cautiously into the room—a slow shift out of the doorway. Something bitter filled his stomach as he stepped out to face his friend, something between anger and anguish. _This_ was what happened when citizens took matters into their own hands. This was what happened when individuals intervened.

“I’m taking care of a problem.” Finally he tore his eyes away from Callie to look up at Robin, gaze hardening as he took in the vigilante before him. “After all, you’re one of _them_. Enslaving someone, just like the rest.”

“Don’t you care that you hurt your classmate?” Robin took a step forward, angry.

“I’m not the one who hurt her. That’s all on you Personas.”

“ _She definitely didn’t end up in a heap on her own_ ,” Tim interjected. “ _Did the wolf leave her?_ ”

“ _I don’t know_.” The entire situation had Robin wary: Callie, the one he’d thought was the threat, lying still and pale, and Owen standing there unscathed. Aloud he said, “I’m not the enemy.” But Owen wasn’t listening.

“Who is it?” he demanded. “The boy you’re stealing?”

“I’m not stealing anyone.”

“Liar!” Owen snarled. “I’ll strip you off that body forcibly if I have to.” His fingers clenched down on the device in his left hand, and he lifted it up.

Robin’s focus was all for Owen, for the perceived threat. He’d just materialized a bird-a-rang, ready to knock the device out of Owen’s hand, unwilling to take chances on whether or not it worked, when the wolf slammed into him from behind. He turned the sprawl into a roll, but couldn’t spring back to his feet before a huge paw knocked him flat again, pinning him to the wet concrete.

“ _So much for hoping it was gone_.”

Throughout the commotion, Owen hadn’t startled or flinched, only shifted to watch.

“ _He knew!_ ” Tim said. “ _How did he know?_ ” The only logical answer to that was unsettling.

“ _They’re working together_.”

Two huge nails scraped against the concrete on either side of his head as the wolf flexed warningly. Robin stilled. A glance to the side proved that Callie was gone, retaken by the wolf while they’d been distracted. It was nice to know they’d been on the right track on that one.

He waited for the teeth that were surely coming, one arm loose, ready to shove his bo up into that mouth if it came any closer.

He wasn't prepared for the deep, bass rumble of the wolf's voice.

“I knew you’d come with the right persuasion.”

“I’m not the only one,” Robin bit back. He could feel the stagnant water soaking into his hair.

“The better to get you all out of the way at once. I was going to eat you, scrawny as you are—”

“ _Always with the scrawny jokes_ ,” Tim muttered.

“—but my friend disapproves. Besides, you’ve changed. Your vessel remade you?”

“ _And apparently I’m never going to live that down either_.” It was true. Bruce was probably taking _notes_.

“None of your business,” Robin snarled.

“This one, Owen.” The wolf looked up at the boy meaningfully. “I want this one next.”

“I thought we agreed they’d be freed...”

“ _This_ one,” the wolf growled, teeth snapping. “This one will be the last.”

“ _Robin, I think that device does more than_ find _Personas_.”

“ _Getting that_.”

Owen’s footsteps were quiet little splashes as he obeyed, and Robin didn’t completely understand why they were working together, but he really didn’t want to find out if Owen’s weapon worked. He materialized a bird-a-rang in his hand and stabbed it into the paw holding him down, right between the bones. The weight lifted off him with a wounded yip and he immediately rolled free, bounding to his feet.

“ _We’ve got to get that device_.” Robin immediately made for it, but the wolf leapt between them with a snap, forcing him to jump back, bo staff back in his hands and held up defensively.

“ _What did we miss?_ ” Tim asked, even as the wolf lunged for them with a growl. “ _Why is it helping Owen go after Personas?_ _How did they even meet?_ ” He thought back over all the times they’d seen Owen that week, looking for something that stood out.

“ _He looked exhausted after the first attack on Steve, pale and sick_.” Robin sidestepped, whirling out of the way only to bring his staff down on the wolf’s head.

“ _Wait, wasn’t Callie sick after Lance’s murder? Linda said she looked awful._ ”

“ _Which would make a lot of sense considering the missing pieces of our corpses. Owen was its vessel that first night!_ ”

“ _It can_ switch?” It was unusual for a Persona to be able to jump vessels like that. It wasn’t unheard of, especially among Personas created by groups, but it wasn’t usually so easy either.

“ _It certainly can’t keep its vessels. It makes them sick_.” Robin couldn’t get out of the way of a giant paw in time, and it knocked him into a wall of lockers hard. Before he could counter, there was a black and red blur and the wolf went flying into the far wall. Superboy grinned down at him, still unfairly pristine as he hovered above Robin’s head.

“Need some help?”

Robin pulled himself to his feet with all the dignity he possessed despite the soaking wet mop of his hair and drenched uniform from all the humidity and time on the floor. He probably looked like a drowned rat.

“They’re working together,” he warned the other Persona. “They have some kind of weapon.” Superboy’s head whipped toward Owen in surprise, but the wolf was on him again before he could do anything else.

“Don’t interfere!” The wolf slammed Superboy into the wall and turned on Robin. Robin was ready though. If it wanted Tim, it was going to have to go through him first.

He slid under the wolf’s advance as it snapped at him, wrapped his arms around its neck and swung himself up so he was sitting between furry shoulder blades. His bo slid under the thing’s throat and he pulled up, choking it.

“Callie needs medical attention,” Robin addressed the boy across the room, the one waiting for the combatants to give him a clear shot. “I know you’re not a bad person, Owen. You can end this.”

“Callie’s here too?” Superboy asked, where he was staggering out of the wall.

“She’ll be fine as long as she stays in that form,” Owen countered, and Superboy looked at the wolf in horror.

“What is _wrong_ with this class?” he asked, throwing his arms up. “ _Any_ other classmates want to come out of the closet? Now is obviously the time.”

Robin was a little preoccupied as the wolf turned liquid shadow beneath him—soft darkness broken by twilight stars for glittering eyes—dropping him through to the cement below. He was ready for it though, landing on his toes and absorbing the impact, already swinging around to face any subsequent assaults.

“It’s a little hypocritical to worry about her,” Owen continued, “when you’re the one embroiling someone in your own personal battle every night. How often do you get that body damaged?”

“ _Less often than we used to_ ,” Tim replied.

“It’s not like you think,” Robin growled. “He’s working with me willingly.” He was not expecting the wolf to come up from directly beneath him, snapping him up in its jaw. Rows of white teeth clenched down across his chest, and if the thick steam had made for heavy breathing before it was nothing compared to now. He couldn’t get air into his lungs, couldn’t jerk his arms out from between sharp canines. The world turned vertical.

“ _Ugh, dog breath_.”

“ _Wait until you feel the drool_ ,” Robin replied. Before he could make the whole ordeal just as difficult for the wolf though, Superboy was there, wrestling it to the floor.

“You don’t want to swallow that,” Superboy grunted into a neck-full of fur. “Trust me, it’ll be vicious going down!”

“I know you’re having fun now that you finally have something to fight,” Robin wheezed out, “but would you just punch it already!”

“Sorry about this, Callie.” He fist connected solidly with the wolf’s head, and it collapsed with a yip.

Now that he wasn’t being chewed on, Robin struggled free, pushing up on the dead weight of teeth and gums to wiggle out. It wasn’t over yet.

Superboy was already on his feet, turning toward the last person in the room, the one who’d been observing quietly from the corner. Owen’s grip on the device tightened determinedly now that the wolf was down and he lifted it up, aiming it at Superboy. Superboy, who thought he was invulnerable and looked distinctly unimpressed, completely unaware of what it did…

“ _He doesn’t understand!_ ” Tim urged. “ _We have to warn him!_ ” But Robin was already moving.

“Watch out!” He wrenched his last boot out from between sharp incisors and leapt up, but there was no way to cover the distance quickly enough. Owen had only needed a clear shot and now he had it. Still, there was more than one way to stop a threat.

He flung a bird-a-rang ahead of him instead, watching it slice deep into the device with a metallic _sching_. Owen dropped it as sparking, blue energy engulfed the bird-a-rang.

And then engulfed Robin, half a room away.

The Persona shouted out—a shout of surprise and pain that splintered and faded inside Tim’s skull as he was shoved blindly back into full control. Just in time to collide with the wet concrete. It knocked the air out of him. His hip and shoulder stung, scraped up from the fall, but nothing compared with the lingering feel of being stripped of his skin, of being scraped clean inside, forcefully hollowed out. His stomach churned, and he struggled to roll over, to push himself up, heaving and gasping on knees and elbows that shook. The ends of his ebony hair clung wetly to his cheeks and the nape of his neck.  The water on the floor had soaked through the black slacks of his school uniform too. Maybe that was why he was cold despite the steam that had had him sweltering earlier.

“What happened?” he rasped into the floor, teeth chattering, reaching out mentally for Robin. When there was no immediate answer, he slowly turned his head, eyes squinting up at the suddenly too-bright light, disoriented and dizzy.

“Tim?” Superboy stared down at him, too-blue eyes wide in surprise. And then, disbelievingly, “ _Tim?!_ ”

Belatedly, he realized that there was nothing between them: no lenses concealing his eyes, no mask at all, no gauntlets protecting his hands from the rough concrete, no armor against the grating bite of reality. He sucked in a startled breath, hand flying to his face to feel for a mask he already knew he wasn’t wearing. He looked around, like he might find it lying on the ground, misplaced. Like he might have misplaced an entire Persona.

“I was kidding about coming out of the closet, I swear,” Superboy muttered.

“Robin?” Tim called when he couldn’t find anything, louder this time, more panicked. He stumbled to his feet, nearly toppled over, and Superboy was suddenly there, steadying him.

“Jeez. Maybe you should sit down. Are you alright?”

Superboy wasn’t the only one looking at him like he’d never seen him before though. Owen stood rooted in place, face twisted in betrayal.

“You knew?”

Tim glanced up at the question, eyes meeting his friend’s, and it was like all the confusion and panic suddenly narrowed into a single, crystal-clear thought: this was all Owen’s fault.

Tim lunged for him, shoving Superboy away.

“What did you do?” he demanded. “Where’s Robin? What did you _do?!_ ”

“You were one of them all along?” Owen took a step back, almost a recoil. “All this time?”

“We were protecting people!” Tim was shouting, the fear and the fury exploding out of him in angry bursts. “ _Robin_ was protecting people!” How could Owen do this? Especially to the one Persona who had spent years defending Gotham and her inhabitants against all odds? Robin was part of the reason the city wasn’t overrun, and people like Owen could walk around safe, and _this_ was how they’d repaid him. Tim caught the other boy’s shoulders, shaking him, wishing it were so easy to shake out the answers he needed. Owen just looked at him blankly.

“Don’t you understand? You’re free, Tim!” A twisted smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, slowly gaining strength, Owen’s conviction growing in the dawning realization of his success. He thought he’d done something good. “You’re not subject to that parasite anymore! You don’t have to fight any longer!” Watching the delight spread across his face twisted something in Tim’s stomach. Revulsion.

“Don’t talk about Robin like that! You have _no idea_ what he did for you! _Sacrificed_ for you!” He was in danger of losing it, he could feel the fury and outrage trying to spill over inside him. He took a labored, focusing breath, adopting the deadly calm he knew so well. “Where’s Robin?”

“Why do you want him back?” An angry frown spread across Owen’s face. “You’re better off without him.”

“Where _is_ he?” Tim tried one last time, and even if there wasn’t a mask covering his eyes, he was all Robin in that instant, voice taking on the promise-of-pain tone reserved for prying answers out of hardened thugs. It wasn’t as effective without the gear, but it did get a straight answer.

“He’s gone.” Owen smiled smugly.

Tim punched him.

It was no less than what Robin would have done, and it felt good. After everything he’d put up with these last couple of weeks—the plant entrails in his books, the jostling in the halls, being shoved and tripped and stepped on so no one would think twice about him—well, it was all for naught now, and Tim didn’t have to take it anymore. It was almost a relief, all his pent up frustration connecting solidly with Owen’s smug face. The other boy stumbled back, thrown off his footing by the force, before crumpling to the ground.

“I see why Robin chose you,” Superboy said, eyebrows lifted at the show of force. Tim stared back at him blankly. With Owen knocked out, the anger and purpose was quickly dissipating, leaving him cold and empty. He stumbled away from his friend, arms wrapped around his midriff, around the gaping hole where he felt he’d been torn open. An invisible wound bleeding him out.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention before he could dwell on it too long, and he wearily lifted his head to look. The starless-black heap of the wolf jerked where it sprawled on the floor, starting to lift itself back to its feet. He immediately squashed all personal trifles from his thoughts, reaching instead for that mental void, readying himself. Robin’s kind of readiness. There was still a fight ahead.

Before he could even take a single step toward the beast though, Superboy swept him into his arms, pressing Tim against his chest as he flew them away from danger, back the way they’d come.

“What are you doing?” Tim demanded, struggling against the Persona’s grip. “The wolf is still back there!” He was going to get away. Then they were going to have to deal with this all over again.

“I’m getting you to safety,” Superboy replied, “before that thing sees you.”

“No!” Tim replied, struggling in earnest now, kicking and pushing. “We have to go back! I have to get that device!”

“Are you crazy? I’m not taking you back there. You don't have a Persona to protect you anymore. Worse, you're an empty vessel walking around just waiting for that thing to fill you up.”

“Let go of me!” Tim twisted sharply, nearly managing to dislodge himself from the Persona’s hold. Except Superboy caught him last second, just barely snagging him before he could tear himself away completely. The Persona wrangled him back into a tighter hold afterward, no longer just supporting but restraining now, hand pressing Tim’s head to his chest while he squirmed and thrashed.

“What is it with you and accepting help?” Superboy only slowed once they were back in their room, Tim still struggling in his arms. He hesitated, obviously realizing he couldn’t trust Tim to just stay put. Then his eyes lighted on the bathroom.

“I’m not going to let them get away with hurting Robin. You should be safe here.” He laid Tim down almost gently on the fuzzy floor mat.

“Don’t you dare!” Tim gasped, flipping over as quickly as he could. It wasn’t fast enough to reach the door before it closed him off, something heavy pushed up against the other side. He shoved at it desperately, twisting the knob and slamming against it. Whatever was on the other side, it didn’t budge.

“Let me out!” He kicked it, a kick fueled by adrenaline and the cold fury of having been taken out of the fight. A fight that was rightfully his.

Superboy’s words kept repeating themselves in his head. _Safe_. Like he was some useless civilian now. Like he couldn’t fight and needed the other Persona to protect him.

“Let me _out!_ ” He kicked it again, bracing against the sink to get both feet up and put the force of his entire body into it. The door shuddered under the assault. There was a splintering noise, but it didn’t bust.

The next second he slammed his fists down on the wood, desperation seeping in. He was better than this, better than a creature of mindless rage. Robin would have been appalled, but Robin _wasn’t here right now_. It was better to be angry than to examine that too closely. He _needed_ the anger, because it was the only thing staving off the crushing truth waiting to drown him. He could feel it sucking at his shoes, dragging at his upraised arms, waiting for him to stop fighting, and he couldn’t afford to give into it.

“I’m Robin!” he tried, because he was not just going to lie down and accept defeat. “Robin!”

He slammed himself against the door one last time and it suddenly burst outward. Superboy must have jerked it open, he realized belatedly, because he stumbled into the Persona’s arms.

“Tim!” Superboy caught him easily, wrapping his struggles up by crushing him against his chest. He looked grim. “The good news is that Callie’s going to be alright. I alerted the police. I couldn’t find Owen though. I think the wolf took him when he couldn’t get you.” Tim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After all this time, they’d finally had a clear shot at ending this whole thing, and Superboy had _let it escape?_

“Get your hands off me!” The Persona didn’t deserve to so much as touch him. He wasn’t Superboy’s vessel. He was Robin’s.  

“You have got to be the most difficult, most stubborn, most frustrating person I have ever met.” Superboy’s arm tightened around him in irritation. “Would you calm down for a sec?” It wasn’t a request. There was TTK locking him in place suddenly, holding him still. It encased his entire body, lining his skin, licking him like fire. He tensed all over at the sensation, muscles taut beneath his skin, eyes wide. It was entirely different from Robin, but it was also so very much the same. His breath hitched at the feel of it.

“What about the device?” It hurt to breathe. To hope. “Where is it?”

“It was trashed. I destroyed what was left. No one will be able to use it again.”

“I needed that! I could’ve figured it out! Could’ve…” He pulled in a ragged, belated breath. Just one. That had been his last chance.

“It’s over. There’s nothing we can do.” The words were white noise. Meaningless syllables. Everything important was gone.

“No!” His voice was hoarse, desperate. He couldn’t accept this, couldn’t breathe.

“He’s gone,” Superboy replied, and it sounded a lot like failure. He was probably upset too, but he was still trying. It didn’t help. The truth felt a lot like horror scrabbling up inside him suddenly.

“No…” He had no air left to say it.

“He never would have left you in the middle of a battle if he was still able. I’m sorry, I should have...” Tim wasn’t listening. He felt raw inside, torn open and bleeding somewhere he couldn’t see.

He’d _lost_ Robin. _He’d lost_ _Robin._

“At least you’re alright,” Superboy finished, and Tim laughed, a laugh that felt a lot like choking up blood. Alright? Robin had been _torn out of him_ , of course he wasn’t alright! Superboy’s eyes immediately narrowed in concern at the noise, looking for something he’d missed. Tim could have told him there was a hole inside him, and this was what happened when a person was _bleeding out_. But Superboy couldn’t see it.

“You’re cold,” he said, hand suddenly on Tim’s forehead. He was _wet_ , his clothes damp where he’d hit the floor. Superboy already had that figured though. “You should get out of those.” And despite the situation, there was a wan version of his usual grin. If Tim had been thinking straight, that would have been a warning.

“Hn!” Tim’s teeth clenched together as all his clothes unraveled at the seams. The threads holding them in one piece just unthreaded themselves. He gasped for the feel of it, the sudden exposure. The scraps slid to the floor at his feet, leaving him bare except for his boxers, body still held securely upright if no longer locked tight by the nonexistent fire coating his skin. There wasn’t even enough time to be upset about it before Superboy had the fluffy afghan from Conner’s bed wrapped around him.

It was a nice effort, but this wasn’t going to help. He’d lost _Robin!_ The thought was a broken, hysterical  loop in his head, agonizingly endless.

Blankets weren’t going to fix it.

That was alright though. He knew how to function with severe injuries. How to smile like it didn’t hurt. Even if it still felt like bleeding out, he’d fought through worse. He could hold it together long enough to get his roommate’s Persona off him at the very least.

Superboy’s eyes were pitying, and he couldn’t _stand_ it suddenly, to be looked at like that.

“Leave me alone.”

“My vessel shares a _room_ with you.”

“Leave me _alone!_ ” Tim all but flung the last word at him, and Superboy looked momentarily torn, obviously not wanting to abandon him like this.

“Fine,” Superboy conceded, frustrated. “Maybe Conner can talk some sense into you.” That was not what Tim had meant, but it was too late to protest. It was a small change—the S disappearing from that stupid black shirt, the blue of his eyes dulling a little—but slowly Superboy faded away, leaving a dazed-looking Conner behind, swaying on the carpet.

“What was I…” he blinked. “Agh, not again!” He tousled his own hair agitatedly, only to stop mid-motion, seemingly catching sight of Tim. “Tim? Buddy, are you alright?”

Tim knew he must look a mess, and not just the tousled, wet hang of his hair, or how hard he was fighting to stay upright.

“I’m fine.” The sound of his voice only condemned him though, rough and too low to sound any kind of fine, and Tim bit down on his own tongue, because he should have been able to control it better, should have been able to present a better front than this. He’d been with Robin long enough to…

Oh jeez, _Robin_ …

The hysterical voice in the back of his head he’d been desperately trying to shut up cracked then, and he sat down hard on Conner’s bed, fingers tightening in the afghan, swallowing back blood. _It was not real_. He was losing it in front of Conner, and he silently willed those blue eyes regarding him stoically to not see it, to be as oblivious as their owner could be. But the next second Conner was crossing the distance determinedly, frown firmly in place, plopping down beside him and tugging at his arm. Confused, Tim allowed himself to be turned so that Conner could see his back.

“Dude, you’re kind of bleeding again. And are you naked?”

Tim blinked, only then realizing the sticky wetness at his shoulder blade was blood. He’d scraped it hard when he’d hit the concrete, but the mild irritation had gone unnoticed in the mire of other concerns. Even now, it was nothing more than an annoyance.

He tried to shake off Conner’s hold without dislodging the afghan.

“I fell on some concrete, it’s nothing.”

“Are you going to let me look at it, or are we going to do this the hard way?”

The hard way? The _hard_ way?!

Tim wasn’t in the mood to take punches, to be pushed around, even by someone with good intentions. He struggled against the lethargy dragging at him, pushing his body to lash out. Striking, like Robin would have, unmindful of revealing his connection. There _was_ no connection anymore. He grit his teeth at the thought even as his strikes hit—strikes meant to knock Conner off balance, to land him on the floor.

The hard way? He was going to show Conner just how _hard_ that would really be.

Only it was like hitting a brick wall, inhumanly hard to move, and Conner didn’t hesitate to take advantage.

Tim hit the bed hard, air knocked out of him, and blinked in shock against the fuzzy yarn.

He was stuck, pinned down by stupid Conner, with his stupid dopey concern and his stupid cologne.

There was no way Conner alone should have been able to hold him down, unless Superboy was helping him, and it was nine kinds of unfair that Conner still had the help of his Persona. Conner, who didn’t even know he had a Persona! Conner, who didn’t know how lucky he was to _still_ have one.

“What happened?” the other boy persisted, and Tim tensed, swallowing back the desperate need for air that was _not real_ —he would _not_ give into it—and the consuming urge to wretch up blood that didn’t exist. Jeez, he was a mess.

“Who did you lose?” Conner asked again, quieter this time. His grip on Tim’s wrists relaxed, and he laid down beside him instead. But Tim wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to talk about it, even with the roommate he’d come to grudgingly respect and kind of like. Maybe like a lot.

He rolled onto his side, turning his face into the crook of Conner’s neck rather than answer the question. Did Conner always smell like earth under it all?

“You should stop wearing the cologne,” he sighed tiredly. A warm arm wrapped hesitantly around his waist.

“Tim, I… I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Tim blinked, eyelashes tickling Conner’s neck in question. “I mean, I blacked out and came back to find you naked, wrapped in Ma’s afghan, and ticked off at me, and it looks sort of bad from my end.”

Tim snorted softly trying to imagine that one. Conner had created _Superboy_. If anything, his heart’s darkest secret was to be obnoxiously helpful and overprotective. He didn’t think Conner _could_ hurt anyone knowingly.

Conner correctly read his snort as disagreement, and his arm tightened, pulling Tim closer. He took a moment to tug the afghan back around them, fuzzy yarn covering Tim’s shoulders.

“You know something about the blackouts, don’t you?”

He nodded against Conner’s shoulder, and even that tiny motion was harder than it should have been, his body impossibly heavy.  Grief was heavier than lead, and it was solidifying in his very bones. He didn’t want to fight it anymore. He waited for Conner to push the issue, to ask the questions he was probably bursting with, but he didn’t. Instead, the other boy sighed, stroking fingers through Tim’s hair.

“Someday I’d like to get you naked in my bed properly,” he muttered.

It was the last thing Tim remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Robin's bird-a-rangs (and the rest of his gear) are a part of him. While there are lots of perks to being able to manifest them endlessly at will, the down side is that if they get fried, so does Robin.


	12. Commitment

Tim was gone when Conner woke up, cold and alone beside the fuzzy heap of the afghan Tim had been curled in. He didn’t see the other boy again until classes. Tim came in at the last minute, only to sit motionless in his seat, gaze following the teacher emptily. Conner watched him worriedly. The blank spot in his memory ate at him, the gnawing suspicion that he’d know what was wrong with Tim if he just had those memories.

It felt like forever before class time was up and the teacher dismissed them.

“Tim!” he called, trying to catch the other boy’s attention through the noise and bustle of other students all moving at once, but Tim only glanced back at him, blue eyes catching his blankly, before disappearing silently out the door.

Conner snatched up his backpack and tried to hurry after him, hoping to catch him in the hall, but Linda’s arm twined suddenly around his waist, the better to snug her hips against his side good-naturedly. When he didn’t immediately look at her, long-nailed fingers caught at his chin, turning his attention away from the worryingly empty space at the door he’d last seen Tim and toward decorated eyes shaded under long, obsidian lashes.

“Ari and I were thinking of visiting Callie at the hospital this evening, maybe watching some Wendy. Wanna join us?”

There was a time he would have loved to hang out with the girls. Even a time he would have hoped it went a little further, thrilled to hook his own arm around Linda’s waist, pull her in close and whisper his answer into painted, pink lips. But looking down at her now, he realized something had changed. He wasn’t even sure when or why, but looking at her now, all the paint and decoration was no longer alluringly exotic but a fake, cheap mask, the faint waft of perfume no longer enticing but bothersome, and the weak pull of her arm hooked in his no longer a pleasant misdirection but a hindrance. It was altogether annoying, and he fought to keep the irritation off his face.

“Can’t,” he smiled apologetically and tried to make it look genuine, not forced. “I need to go check on someone else.”

“So noble,” she huffed good-naturedly. “But if you change your mind...” But Conner’s eyes were already wandering away from hers, finding the spot where Tim had disappeared into the throng of jostling students, ignoring her impatient pout.

“Not tonight,” he reiterated, pulling free of her hold and leaving her there, perhaps a little rudely. But the more he thought about Tim’s blank stare, the more he realized he wanted to make sure the other boy was alright, the more he wanted that unimpressed blue gaze back, wanted Tim to look at him, wanted the feel of Tim’s thin body held comfortably in his arms and silky black hair pressed against his chest, wanted to know what it felt like when the other boy laughed instead of crying.

The more he wanted…

Aw, _heck_.

* * *

There was something about the roof. Tim kept finding himself there. He’d been wandering restlessly all day, during any free minute he had, choosing empty hallways at random, brushing off anyone trying to get his attention. Unable to return to familiar routines when critical pieces of them were missing.

The roof was empty—he’d picked the lock that kept everyone else out—and it was safe. It had always been safe with Robin. So he didn’t fight it later that evening when he found himself back where he’d started.

It was especially cold at night out in the open without the warmth of skin-tight leather, and he ended up curled in a ball beside the access stairwell, mourning the loss of that warmth. The loss of everything really: the secret voice only he could hear, the constant companionship, the nighttime work. His friend.

Half of his life was just gone.

The entire morning had been awful. There was suddenly too much time for sleep and studying and calling parents—time that had once been full of banter in his head and working cases. It was utterly empty. An awful, echoing kind of empty.

He curled up tighter.

“Robin,” he tried, whispering it into the nothingness between his knees, into the emptiness in his head. He could not be gone. Personas couldn’t just be killed. Injured, yes. Temporarily dispersed, yes. But not killed. Trying to take one out was tantamount to changing the human heart and equally as difficult. It was easier to just kill the creator.

But _Gotham_ had created Robin. The combined cries for help, for some sign of hope, from thousands of people. That kind of Wish didn’t just disappear.

“ _Come back_ ,” Tim begged. “ _Please_.” He’d been calling off and on all morning, like the sound of his voice might bring Robin back, despair growing every time there was no answer. He’d known something was seriously wrong from the moment he’d landed on the concrete, maskless and achingly alone. It was different from even the myriad times Robin had been hurt before. Bad enough Robin couldn’t maintain a hold on a vessel. Bad enough he hadn’t come back, might not come back at all.

Tim dug his nails into his knees, slacks wet where his face pressed into them.

Batman hadn’t come looking for him yet, but he would. That was a confrontation he was not ready to make. How could he tell the man he most looked up to that he’d failed? Still, he wouldn’t be able to put it off long. They were a close-knit group. Someone would notice soon. Someone would realize Robin wasn’t around. How could he ever face them?

As if summoned by the thought, the sudden, soft landing of feet on the roof had Tim jerking upright, startled. Only to find a familiar, dark figure making placating gestures at him as he stepped away from the ledge. The bright blue stripes of his uniform stood out starkly against the inky night.

Instead of the comforting presence Nightwing usually brought though, Tim’s alarm only mounted. He froze, still half-crouched, panicked and flighty.

Nightwing took one look at him and his half-formed smile slowly petered out.

“I didn’t see Robin on patrol,” Nightwing said tentatively—tentative, because he knew something was wrong. He could probably see it was wrong, read it in the lines of Tim’s face. “I thought I’d come surprise him.”

Tim jerked with the force of a gulp, choking on the truth he felt would truly end any connection he had with the other vigilante. He was not ready for this. The edges where Robin had fit inside him were still raw and bloody.

“Hey now, what’s wrong?” NIghtwing took a worried step toward him, and he could not lie to Nightwing. He just couldn’t. Nightwing had only ever helped him, and he was failing him. He’d lost the only thing that mattered.

“I’m sorry!” Tim burst out. He couldn’t quite meet the other Persona’s eyes. He sucked in a huge breath, because Nightwing deserved the truth, no matter how much it hurt. “I lost him. I lost your brother.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Tim could only smash his eyes closed against the cold and the crushing disappointment surely stealing over Nightwing’s face and wait for the judgment that was coming.

Only it didn’t.

“Oh.” The Persona finally chuckled. “I thought this might happen soon.”

“What?!” Tim’s head jerked up to meet his gaze, stricken.

“Everyone loses Robin eventually.”

Nightwing didn’t understand, he realized. He thought this was some rite of passage, the way Robin had been passed on to Jason.

“It’s not like with Dick.” He shook his head, hair disarrayed in his distress, and slumped back against the access stairwell, curling back into a ball at the bottom.

“It never is,” Nightwing replied wisely, joining him by the stairwell, folding easily to his knees and staring out at the city. “But it always turns out okay. Better this time, I’d say, because we didn’t lose you too.” The Persona tousled his hair, maybe to reassure himself Tim was okay, or maybe because he was as touchy-feely as his vessel. “Dick would have been impossible to live with if we’d lost you,” he confided. “Speaking of which, he wants to talk to you too.” Before Tim could protest, Nightwing’s black and blue uniform faded artfully to tanned skin, leaving Dick curled up beside him companionably.

“I think you would have lost Robin soon no matter what. Robin has always been Batman’s partner and you don’t need Batman’s help anymore. You would have been at odds.”

“I thought you would have been more upset,” Tim admitted. He leaned against the man because he was warm. He wasn’t entirely sure when the man managed to sneak an arm around him in a half-hug. Dick was sneaky like that. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

“I thought he wouldn’t come back after Jason, but he did. I’ve learned to be open minded.” Dick smiled out at the wide city that had given them Robin in the first place. “Oracle got a recording of it you know.”

“Of what?”

“Robin the other night.” The red and black, he meant. Any other time, Tim would have been embarrassed. Now his hands only tightened around his knees, and he looked down at his feet wishing he could get it back.

“Oh.”

“We were going to come tease you about it.” Tim felt his chest constrict, and Dick rubbed his back comfortingly. "Batman's used to his Robins doing weird stuff by now. Although most of us painted our rooms rebellious colors instead of our Personas." Tim groaned into his knees, but Dick wasn't done yet. "I didn't peg you for the kind to wear your heart on your sleeve."

“Diiiiick...”

“Okay, okay, I solemnly swear we will save the rest of the blackmail for a better mood.” Dick pouted, and perhaps it was the fond teasing and familiar banter or the fact that Dick decided just then there wasn’t enough physical contact and full out octopus-ed him, pulling Tim closer until the man was satisfied, but for whatever reason, everything hurt a little less.

“What did you do when you lost Robin?” Tim asked at length.

“Moped for awhile.” Dick laughed. “Then I got my act together and decided I wasn’t going to stop just because I didn’t have a partner anymore.”

“But you ended up with Nightwing.”

“I ended up with Nightwing.” Dick nodded his agreement. “Things have a way of working out. You’re an experienced vessel now, and experienced vessels rarely stay alone long. There’s someone better for you out there. Someone more suited to your individual strengths. Or there will be.”

“I don’t want—” But Dick’s hand covered his mouth, hushing him.

“Would Robin want you to give up?”

“No,” Tim admitted unhappily, and Dick grinned, eyes crinkling triumphantly.

“A word of advice. When it happens? Don’t fight it.”

* * *

Superboy didn’t deal with inaction very well. Especially when someone close to him had been hurt, especially when it might be fatal. And Robin had definitely been hurt badly if he hadn’t come back yet. Superboy could still hear that shriek.

He really wanted to tear things apart.

Preferably a certain wolf, if he could just get his hands on it again. If the coward ever came back. It had been the epitome of frustrating to find the wolf vanished again during all of the two minutes it had taken to get a certain roommate to safety. But he couldn’t have left Tim there. It would have been distracting constantly keeping an eye on a civilian. Especially one he cared about.

Besides, he owed it to Robin to watch out for Tim.

Robin had been the first Persona he’d met physically comparable in age to himself, the first to hang out with him (even if it was at exhausting hours at night). His first real friend.

Maybe there wasn’t much he could do to help Tim right now (Conner seemed to have a lot better luck with that), but he was darn well going to catch the ones responsible for hurting him. They’d crossed a line going after Superboy’s friends, and that wasn’t going to stand.

Unfortunately, the only means he had of tracking them down was Karl, and that meant hours of painstakingly watching over the other boy. At least, as much as he could watch without panicking Conner. It would have been easier if he’d talked to him, but he didn’t want Conner involved in this, didn’t want him hurt like Tim and Callie had been. It was bad enough Conner’s friends were involved, and hadn’t that been a sobering surprise? Finding out that Robin had been living in the same room all week and never told him? If he ever got a chance, he was going to personally drag Robin back and ream him out thoroughly for that one.

Just as soon as he kicked some wolfy butt for making that impossible in the first place.

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised he wasn’t the only one with that intention.

* * *

Tim leaned casually against the wall, backpack haphazardly dumped at his feet, sipping from the Zesti he’d snagged earlier. His focus was a little too riveted on the frustrated growls from around the corner to truly be casual though. He’d been subtly tailing Karl all day. His classmate was currently holed up in one of the study nooks, obviously struggling. Tim didn’t have much pity.

They’d both lost someone.

The corridor was mostly empty for once, no one to notice how little he was actually drinking or where his attention really was. The other residents of the dorm had been unusually subdued after the recent attacks. Some students had left. The faculty had been talking about evacuating the campus.

Tim wasn’t going to let that happen.

Riveted as he was to Karl’s vicinity, he didn’t fail to notice the familiar pair of feet approaching from the opposite direction, especially when they stopped beside him. Even if he didn’t look up.

He could feel the fierce set of blue eyes leveled on him disapprovingly.

“He's going to go back after Karl. You should be ready.” The words were dead, dry things in his throat.

“Karl's not the one I'm worried about.”

“He should be.”

“Tim, would you look at me?”

Reluctantly, Tim set the Zesti down and met Superboy’s gaze, chin tilted challengingly. To anyone passing by, he looked like Conner, but Tim could see how blue his eyes were. He knew who he was talking to.

“You can’t go on like this.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Tim countered. “I’m not going to stop doing my job.”

“What job? You can’t hear wishes anymore. What do you even think you’re—”

From around the corner came the frustrated slamming of a book and a second later Karl stormed past.

“You two should find a bed and get it over with,” he told them nastily as he headed off down the hall. Tim started after him but Superboy immediately blocked his path.

“Are you even listening?”

“I don’t need a Persona’s help. I just need to do _this_.” He gestured angrily after Karl’s retreating back. He needed to make a difference. More than anything, he needed to finish what he’d started.

“You’re not Robin!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Tim practically exploded. “You think I can’t _feel_ it? Every time I breathe? Every time night falls and I’m still _here?_ ” He swept an arm out sharply, gesture encompassing the walls and grounds and curfews keeping him contained. “It doesn’t _change_ anything! I’m not going to stop being who I am! I’m not going to let his sacrifice be for nothing!”

“Even if it means sacrificing yourself?”

“That’s not what this is,” Tim insisted. It wasn’t. It was about refusing to give up something he loved. It was about stopping a threat. And if it was a little bit about taking care of the one who’d taken Robin from him, could he really be blamed for that?

“Do you even understand the situation you’re in? Do you know what you _are_ right now?” Superboy stalked closer. A slow, deliberate stalk that had Tim tensing up. “Empty.” One step and another. “Tempting.” Until he had Tim caged in. “Rare and _valuable_ ,” he stressed, reaching out. Tim’s hand snapped up, pinching Superboy’s wrist hard.

“Don’t.” Not that he could really stop him, but…

Superboy’s fingers only brushed his cheek softly, and Tim flinched back from the gentleness. “Desirable,” he finished breathlessly. “When I first met Robin I didn’t understand his choice of vessel. Now I get it. I may not have been around long, but even I know how rare a vessel like you is. Someone who can actively alter someone else’s Wish. Anyone who knows what you can do is going to want you.”

“Then you know how useful I am in this fight.”

“No!” Superboy’s hands came down on the wall on either side of Tim’s head in frustration, denting the sheetrock. “I want you to stay out of it! I don’t want that thing to get you. You must know what happens to the vessels of Personas like that!” Tim didn’t even blink.

“You’re not going to intimidate me out of this.”

“And what if the wolf uses you against me? You’re Conner’s friend and all that’s left of Robin. I don’t want to _fight_ you!”

“Those are the risks we face every night. I’ve made up my mind.” He tried to duck away, half distracted with how far Karl could have gotten by now, but Superboy’s hand caught his arm, spinning him around.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Can’t _let_ me?” Tim asked dangerously, straightening. “What are you going to do? Lock me in the bathroom all day? _Karl_ is the one in danger! Why don’t you go keep an eye on someone who actually needs it?”

“I can’t let _you_ get hurt! Don’t you understand? You’re more important than Karl. More important than anyone else. And you’re intentionally putting yourself in danger!”

“Why?” Tim threw his hands in the air, frustrated beyond caution. “Why am _I_ so important to you?”

“Because you’re the one Conner _loves!_ ” Superboy immediately clenched his fists and jaw after the outburst, obviously not having meant to say that aloud. Tim could only blink at him, taken aback.

“What?” he asked numbly. If Superboy had wanted to distract him, he’d just done a good job of it, intentionally or not. But he never got clarification.

Karl's guttural shout of alarm from somewhere down the hall had them both tensing.

Superboy’s eyes narrowed on him, hard in their immediate dismissal.

“Stay here, Tim. You don’t have Robin to protect you anymore. Let me handle this.” Superboy didn’t wait for an answer. He took off toward the disturbance.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Tim told the empty hallway where the other vigilante had been, even as he grabbed his backpack and took the first step after him, determination welling up fierce and hot. “I never needed Robin’s protection to fight.”

He was running by the time he hit the end of the hall, all out, feet and heart carrying him toward the danger ahead. He’d been Robin’s partner for years. Even without the Persona— _don’t think about it_ —he knew what to do. The Wish inside him—the one that had drawn Robin to him in the first place—wasn’t anything so weak as wanting to help or hoping he could make a difference, it was the burning belief that he was _going_ to do it, whether he was capable or not. A determination to affect a difference, not simply wish for it. That resolution seemed brighter than ever just then, resounding with the pounding of his feet on the tile and the hammering of his heart, pushing him onward.

It felt like having wings.

“ _I’m coming!_ ” he thought fiercely. “ _I won’t let anyone else get hurt!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick just can't be sad about this news. He's seen Robin get blown up and still come back, and he _knows_ things now, so even though he feels for Tim, there's a part of him that's excited about the possibility of a new brother.


	13. Through Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Torture

Several students came running out of the hallway ahead, screaming. It was an easy trail to follow. Tim skidded around the final corner to find Superboy locked in combat with the wolf, his arms wrapped around the wolf’s neck, trying to strangle it, the wolf’s head twisted to clamp down on Superboy’s hip. It was a tangle of tangible flesh and starless darkness, jarring on the eyes in the dimly lit hallway.

Karl lay sprawled on the tile floor, passed out, but otherwise in solid condition. It only took Tim a moment to assess the situation before he was on his knees beside Karl, hefting the heavier boy’s bulk over his shoulder.

As much as he wanted a piece of the wolf, wanted the chance to end this, Superboy was already providing a nice distraction and getting civilians to safety took precedence. He didn’t make it more than a couple feet though, before the wolf realized what he was doing and turned into liquid shadow with a snarl in Superboy’s grasp.

“Tim!” He heard the other Persona’s warning shout and dropped Karl unceremoniously back onto the ground, taking up a defensive stance over his body. One hand reached into the bag still slung over his shoulder.

He hadn’t come unprepared.

Just because Robin could materialize an array of gadgetry didn’t mean Tim hadn’t had to familiarize himself with the real thing first. It had taken weeks. He’d had to know exactly how it felt in his hand for the Persona to use it—its weight and size, its component parts. How to put it together and take it apart.

If the wolf wanted to play at shadows, that was fine, Tim knew how to make light.

“Superboy! Eyes closed!” He flung the flash grenade into the floor between them, and the hallway exploded with light.

With a surprised yip, the wolf was forced back into solidity, stumbling against the wall. As long as it was solid, it was an easy target. Superboy was back on it instantly, pinning it to the blue trim of the hall.

“That was genius.” He flashed Tim a grin. “Can you keep doing that?”

“Only if you stop trying to protect me.”

“No promises.” But there was something reappraising in his eyes now, something a lot like respect, and Tim thought they could really do this. Not just end this threat, but work as a team. He could keep the wolf from escaping, and Superboy could keep it down, and they were _doing_ it. Complementing each other for once. Working as one. It was exhilarating.

Where it was pinned, the wolf thrashed, snapping furiously. It didn’t bother shadowing out of Superboy’s hold. Instead, its gaze lifted over Superboy’s shoulder, locking onto Tim angrily.

“You’re not going to get away this time,” Tim told it, meeting that gaze fiercely. “I’m not going to let you escape again. Not after what you’ve done. I’ll lock every one of your vessels up one by one until you have no one left to use if I have to, but this is the end.”

“You don’t want to corner me, human!”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you helped take Robin away.”

“And you should have thought about the consequences before standing in my way!” Then the wolf was shifting, form devolving into something more Superboy’s size.

The next second Owen hung limply where the wolf had been, strings cut.

“Woah!” Superboy easily caught their classmate despite the surprise. Then he seemed to realize what it meant. Arms full, he whipped around to look back at Tim. His eyes were impossibly wide. “Tim,” he mouthed, and it was the first time Tim had truly seen him fearful. Owen dropped from his arms forgotten—Tim was going to remember that thump, the warning sound of a body hitting the floor, because it was so telling in the suddenly empty hall. It shook him out of his daze.

He turned to run, to get away from Karl before he became a liability to his classmate, but there was no time.

His limbs seized up, the muscles locked against his struggles, invisible strings pulled taut.  

“ _Such a good fit_.” The growl grated up his spine. “ _Previously vacated vessels always are_.”

“Don’t get comfortable. You’re not staying.” Tim clenched his teeth against the mental invasion—the voice ripping its way into his head. Sandpaper inside his skull. Unable to adjust the backpack on his shoulder, it slipped off, dropping to the floor.

“ _You’re going to remake me_ ,” the wolf snarled, “ _just like you did Robin. You’re going to make me invulnerable_.”

“Why would I ever Wish for that?” He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Robin had _never_ locked him up this way.

“Tim!” Superboy was there, hovering agitatedly, looking like this was his worst nightmare. His fingertips brushed Tim’s cheek. “No. No, please.” Tim couldn’t even turn into the touch, spine locked in place. “I told you this would happen. Why couldn’t you just listen to me?” It was the sort of situation Superboy probably hated. The kind no amount of raw strength could solve. Tim was too preoccupied to feel sorry.

“ _You’re going to Wish me invulnerable_ ,” the wolf continued savagely, “ _because it’ll be the only way to stop the pain_.” There was an itch under his skin, a feeling of discomfort flaring catch-fire quick into a burn. It spread down his body until he was gasping with it, unable to do much more than twitch, let alone escape his own skin. “ _Usually the transformation takes only an instant. Callie and Owen didn’t even feel it. But I can make it infinitely slow_.” It burned down into his bones, where it became sharp, stabbing pain, the kind he had to remember to breathe through. It felt like his skin was being forcefully separated from his body, like there were things shifting wrongly inside him. He was choking on it.

“ _Do you feel that? That ache in your marrow? That’s your bones elongating under your skin._ ”

His eyes were wide, so wide, and Superboy’s hands were on his face, desperate, mouthing over and over, “Hold on. Hold on.”

His body couldn’t deal with the strain, couldn’t hold him up, and the wolf didn’t bother maintaining his hold when Tim’s legs buckled. He would have ended up on the ground, writhing, but Superboy caught him, gathering him into his arms instead.

There were breathing patterns, things to help manage this, but his lungs were all wrong. He couldn’t get in a full breath, or he was getting too much breath. Everything was off.

“ _I can rearrange your organs, shift them back and forth for hours. I’m not letting you escape me_.”

That _voice_. It was destroying him from the inside out. Jarring and abrasive. Wrong in a thousand ways.

They were _not_ compatible, and having that _thing_ inside him… Changing him. His hair wasn’t black anymore, it was starless wisps of shadow brushing his face. He felt sick. He felt filthy, inside and out, like his skin wasn’t his anymore, and he wanted it _off_. He clenched his teeth together in a grimace, head falling back in Superboy’s arms, hands raking at his chest. They raised bloody welts, desperate to get it out of him.

Superboy caught his wrists before he could physically claw the wolf out from under his skin, out of his head.

“I’m not going to let you hurt my friend!”

“Let me go!” he told them both, twisting against the single hand so easily restraining him.

“Tim!” Superboy’s too-blue eyes were worried, almost cradling him in his arms, so ridiculously gentle. “Don’t do this! Don’t let him win!”

A wave of nausea rolled over him as his insides heaved and changed. He couldn’t keep his body from spasming or stop the sheen of sweat from breaking out across his skin. Superboy pulled him tighter into his arms, possibly trying to pin the wolf down or possibly trying to keep Tim from finding another way to hurt himself. It was vaguely comforting to know that even if the wolf took over completely, Superboy wouldn’t let it get very far.

“ _I can make it stop at any time. Wish me invulnerable_.”

“Never!”

“ _You have a remarkable pain tolerance. Robin trained you well_.”

“Too well to give in to a petty little revenge-bent Persona like you,” Tim grit out, muffled in Superboy’s arms. “Get out!”

“ _Your resistance is excellent. The longer you hold out, the more desirable you become._ _All your strengths will serve me soon enough_.”

Tim tossed his head violently, trying to escape the voice grating inside his skull. The very sound of it was abrasive, hollowing him out to the shape the wolf desired. Superboy still had his hands though. He couldn’t fight them both. Couldn’t fight them at all for much longer.

He lost his sixth attempt at a breathing pattern on a sharp inhale and had to restart. His skin felt too tight, constricting ribs and lungs that were too large to be his, organs that were more wolf than human.  

His entire body ached from the strain, exhaustion dragging at him, turning his thoughts sluggish in his head.

“ _I’m definitely going to keep you, a vessel of your quality. Owen couldn’t do it. Even after hours of this, even after he wanted it so badly it hurt, he couldn’t change me. But you… you’re already changing me_.”

It had to be a lie. He didn’t really want it. He didn’t. His fingers twitched, curling desperately against Superboy’s grip.

“I will never be your vessel!” But it came out a hoarse whisper.

“ _Just a little more and this will be over_.” The voice was placating, patiently working on him. “ _Then we’ll be helping people. Isn’t that what you want?_ ”

Helping people, yes.

“Don’t give into him!” Superboy told him, worried by the way the tension had eased through his shoulders and arms.

“You don’t…” he started uncertainly.

“ _We protect people_ ,” the wolf insisted. “ _From bullying, from Personas who would use them against their knowledge_.”

“Personas like you,” he replied, and then realized what the wolf actually meant. Or rather, _who_ was included in that list.

Conner, he thought, heart constricting, eyes turning wildly to find Superboy’s above him. It was going to use him against Superboy.  He struggled, panic forcing movement from his abused body.

“ _Why are you fighting? We’re the same!_ ” That was Owen’s Wish, he realized, caught up in the wolf’s original directive, now indistinguishable. The Persona had become an amalgamation of desires to keep itself alive—that’s what a Wish really was at its core: the shadowy desires of the human heart—and it was trying to incorporate Tim’s, trying to make them compatible.

“I won’t let you hurt him!” He thrashed, heart pounding in panic, but fighting just increased the agony. Everything hurt. He was so sore and  tired.

If the wolf was invulnerable, he wouldn’t be suffering anymore, but if he went down that road, he’d never stop. He’d create a monster that no one could destroy. He’d be stuck with this Wish in his head forever. _He’d be used to hurt Conner_.

Besides, it wasn’t the only way the pain would stop. The realization hit him belatedly, amidst the delirium of exhaustion. The wolf had been trying to railroad him, force him down the path it wanted, blind him with pain so he couldn’t see there were _other paths_.

One corner of his mouth crooked up into the hint of a smile even as he panted for breath. _Hah_.

“ _You want invulnerability? Fine. Mom never would let me have a dog!_ ” Tim thought, grasping onto the edges of the idea through the pain. The Persona was responsible for the death of his classmate, for using Callie, for tearing Robin from him. Now for the pain under his skin, its very presence rotting away what was left of Robin inside him. The memory of what it was like. Now it had threatened Conner. He’d never hated another Persona more.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” it demanded.

“Don't you know? You can't be my Persona and not be changed by me.” He smirked—more a baring of teeth against the pain—purely vicious amusement. “Apparently I have a thing for red and black. You'll be lucky if I don't leave you polka-dotted, you lousy mutt!”

“ _No!_ ” The pain crescendoed—the wolf trying to break his focus, to drive him past rational thought. “ _You_ will _submit!_ ” Tim had been trained by the best though—being stuck in a cave with a creepy billionaire had its benefits—and he was Robin’s vessel, he was intimately familiar with pain. It scrabbled at the edges of his control, left him trembling with the strain, but he was _not_ going to give into this.  

“ _You’re going to make a nice little pet!_ ” Tim thought fiercely, and it was like a raft in the storm, sudden leverage against the gale. He wasn’t winning, but he wasn’t getting rolled over anymore either. “ _A little, loyal doggie, and you’re going to protect all those people you hurt_.” There was something else besides the pain under his skin now, something just brushing his fingertips, a hairsbreadth out of reach. It was soft though, _familiar_. He reached for it instinctually, hands scrabbling, fighting Superboy’s well-meaning, restraining grip. It was so close! He heaved against the arms holding him down desperately.

“Please!” Superboy frowned, relaxing his grip just a fraction, enough for Tim to reach up just another half inch. He could definitely feel it now, something tangible, sleek against his fingertips, coating them a visible black. He strained for more height, embracing it, and it spread the quicker, molding to his palms and knuckles and wrists. Then Superboy was dropping him with a gasp.

He landed on his feet anyway.

He _knew_ this feeling. The realization was electrifying, emboldening. He wasn’t alone.

Leather bled down his arms, chasing away the pain, shielding him from the torment. His heart was beating so fast.

The wolf was still howling in his head, thrashing inside him, a sickening sensation. But his control was slipping, his hold weakening. Tim’s hair was just black.

“ _Get out!_ ” The thought was so close to Tim’s own he almost mistook it—the same dangerous growl, rough in his throat, all warning and smoke. “ _This is my vessel, get out!_ ”

“ _A pet_ ,” Tim thought fiercely, one last time. “ _A nice, tame little pet_.” Then the wolf was gone and Tim was gasping and shaking, trembling from head to toe.

“Tim! It’s alright! I’ve got you!” His arms were wrapped around himself, even though he wasn’t the one hugging himself as he shook. “It’s over, Tim. I promise. I’ve got you.”

“Who are you?” Superboy demanded, hands fisting at his sides like the battle might not be over. “Let Tim go!”

Red-leather clad arms tightened around Tim protectively, eyes narrowing fiercely on Superboy as though he might be a threat.

“I don’t answer to you.” Despite the shivering racking Tim’s body, the voice was steady.

But it wasn’t Robin.

He wasn’t sure at what point he’d thought it was. The leather had been so familiar. The black and red over his skin. The _feel_ of it. But it wasn’t Robin. Tim didn’t know who it was, and he’d just been nearly torn apart by the last Persona he’d attracted, and he wanted it _off_.

“ _Let me go!_ ” he demanded, panicked and overwhelmed and still hurting everywhere. Everything inside him ached. For a moment the Persona continued to regard Superboy silently, crouch defensive, the inky edges of his cape settled around him to hold Tim in soft darkness while he assessed the threat. But finally he yielded.

“As you Wish.”

The leather faded from his skin, the lenses from his eyes. He didn’t have more than a moment to blink away the renewed reminder that Robin was gone and the brief, nonsensical onslaught of grief—he’d already lost Robin, it was over. A moment to sway on his own two feet, holding himself up, then he was immediately accosted by a certain worried Persona.

“Tim! Thank heavens!” Superboy looked ridiculously relieved. Tim didn’t even get a full breath in before he was pulled into a crushing hug.

“Superboy!” He wheezed, pushing at him with his one free hand. It was a pretty pathetic push. Still, the crushing pressure on his lungs and vertebrae relaxed.

“Dude! What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright. I think I picked up a friend though.” He wasn’t even sure “friend” was the right word yet. Just because he’d helped get rid of the wolf didn’t mean anything. Though it was telling that he’d backed off when Tim asked him to, that there was no discomfort, that they were compatible.  

He really didn’t like where this was going.

“Is he using you?” Superboy asked, grip firming again, and the Persona under Tim’s skin seemed to tense in righteous indignation. “Because if he is, I’ll take you to Batman, we can find a way to get rid of him.”

“ _That would leave you unprotected and open to all manner of dark Wishes_.” The tone said exactly what he thought of _that_.

“ _Who are you?_ ” Tim demanded. He wasn’t going to stand for some strange Persona in his head, no matter how well they fit together.

“ _I’m_ your _Persona. I’m Red Robin_.”

“ _My Persona is_ Robin _._ ”

“ _He was never your Wish_ ,” Red Robin replied, and there was nothing like blunt-force honesty. “ _You were only borrowing him until you were capable of handling me_. _I’ve been waiting_.”

This was too much right now. He wasn’t ready to share his life so openly yet. He closed his eyes against it, fingers fisting tighter in Superboy’s shirt for a moment before pushing away, standing on his own two feet, trying to get his body’s trembling under control.

“Apparently he’s mine.”

“Yours?” Superboy asked. “But I thought—”

“I wasn’t Robin’s first vessel. He didn’t really belong to me.”

“Well, if you’re going to keep him around, I’m sure I could get used to the extra leather.”

“Don’t get used to it just yet,” Tim muttered.

“At least the wolf is gone. What happened to it anyway?” Superboy frowned at the hallway, empty save for the unconscious bodies of Karl and Owen. “Did you just Wish it into _nonexistence?_ ” The relief in Superboy’s eyes had shifted into incredulity.

“I…” Tim took a deep, shuddering breath, looking around as though he might find tufts of fur or charred skin or some indication that it was over, but there was nothing. “I think I altered its primary directive.”

“Remind me never to tick you off.”

Looking for the wolf made him suddenly aware of just how empty the hallway was.

“Why hasn’t anyone found us yet?”

“I’m keeping them out,” Superboy replied. “I thought you might want to avoid the spotlight.” He was learning. Tim was really thankful for that right just then. But before he could take advantage of that thoughtfulness there was a sharp _yap_ from behind them, and they both jerked around in surprise.

“What is _that?!_ ” Superboy demanded, alarmed.

There was a little, white Terrier sitting in the middle of the otherwise empty hall, tail wagging. It had definitely not been there before. At the same time, Owen’s unconscious body was conspicuously missing. Tim stared at the dog, dismayed for a moment.

“ _You did a number on that one_ ,” Red Robin told him, leather spreading up under his shirt bracingly and something like quiet pride from the back of his mind.

“ _Oh_ no,” Superboy said. “No way. Please tell me you did _not_ Wish it into a pet?”

“What?” Tim asked. Apparently he was going to have to deal with it. “Didn’t you want a furry companion?”

“You realize he eats people?!”

Tim was too physically exhausted to worry about the details. He patted Superboy on the shoulder.

“He’ll fit right in then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can now say it: this is that story where Tim saved his school by Wishing for Krypto. 
> 
> How far can Superboy’s TTK stretch? I might have pushed it too far in this. It was a short hallway? 
> 
> Finally, I updated the tags. Some tags (like the "Red Robin" tag) I just wanted to remain a surprise until now. Some tags (like the "Explicit Sexual Content" tag) I wasn't sure I'd go through with when I started this or how far I'd take it, but with the story 95% written I can now say it's coming, and from here on out it's just going to get more explicit as we go (except ch. 15, which is pure fluff). So if there's anyone left who didn't see that coming, this is your warning. Otherwise, thanks for reading!


	14. As You Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Explicit Sexual Content
> 
>  **Notes:** I just want to say really quick that if there’s one thing I feel guilty about in this story, it’s pushing this relationship too quickly. These two needed more time to learn each other, but then I would have had to write another six chapters of epilogue before getting to Tim and Kon, and that would have sucked too.

Tim was antsy all evening. Not just from nearly becoming a slave in his own body—the memory of it still made him shudder—but from the new, unfamiliar presence in the back of his head. He couldn’t get away from it, and his nerves were still a little too raw from the last Persona to try to take him as a vessel. He kept expecting that flare of pain even as he pulled a bag of potato chips from the vending machine, kept expecting to be incapacitated the moment he stepped into his own room or dropped the bag unopened onto his desk.

As long as there was someone in his head, it didn’t feel over.

The worst part was that Red Robin knew exactly where the problem lay.  

“ _No one is going to take you like that again. I won’t let them_.” A cape fell comfortingly over his shoulders all of a sudden, materializing out of thin air and wrapping around him. Tim nearly jumped out of his chair though, trembling all over, and it was _ridiculous_.

“Not to be rude,” he said, pushing the cape from his shoulders (it vanished before it could hit the floor), “but I really don’t need another Persona right now.”

“ _I won’t leave you_ ,” Red Robin replied, so firmly that Tim resisted grinding his teeth. “ _I promised Robin I'd keep you safe_.”

“You promised...?” Tim mouthed. A second later he was on his feet, hands slamming down on the desk.  “You _talked_ to him? He _knew?!_ ”

“ _He didn’t know he would lose you so quickly. I assume he meant to tell you_.”

“How _long_ exactly have you been chatting with Robin?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“ _Only once_.”

“I don’t believe you. There’s no way Robin would have just…” What, promised him to someone else? Left him like that? He sank back into his chair sullenly.

“ _He couldn’t keep you_.”

“Why not?” He hadn’t thought it was possible to hurt anymore. He squished the chips bag under his palm pettily and it popped with a pathetic little wheeze. Red Robin’s interest was immediately riveted to the noise. There was just a sudden, intense silence in his head. It took Tim a moment to recognize that intense focus as curiosity, like a cat wanting to bat at a mouse for the first time to see if it would make that interesting squeaky noise again. He was _not_ going to find that cute. “Red Robin?”

“ _Hm?_ ” Reluctantly, the Persona considered him.

“Why couldn’t he keep me?”

“ _He wasn’t your Wish. It was inevitable you’d grow up and he couldn’t_.”

“I could’ve changed him. I could’ve found a way.” He’d already changed Robin once. Why wasn’t that good enough? Why wasn’t _he_ good enough?

“ _Yes_ ,” Red Robin replied, much too quietly, almost subdued. “ _Yes, you probably could have changed Robin against his will_.” Tim bit his lip, briefly ashamed. Not just that he might have hurt his friend—wouldn’t Robin have wanted to stay with him? He’d never know now—but that he’d implied he didn’t want Red Robin to exist, that the owner of his Wish didn’t even want him. He took a deep breath and swallowed down the desire to lash out. It wasn’t the Persona’s fault he’d lost Robin.

“How long?” he asked instead.

“ _What?_ ”

“You’ve obviously been hanging around for awhile, so… How long have you been waiting?”

“ _Time is nebulous without a reason to track it, but… I remember a lot of wishes to avoid a gang war that nearly destroyed the city_.” That had been a long time ago. At least a year. It startled Tim.

“Jeez. You waited that long? Why didn’t you find someone else?”

“ _You think I…?_ ” the Persona started disbelievingly. “ _You think I can_ choose? _I’m_ your _Persona, Tim. What did you think that meant? You’re the only one I_ —” He took a deep, mental breath. “ _There_ is _no one else_.”

“Oh,” Tim replied, blinking. He’d spent a good number of years with a Persona he’d always worried would move on without him, and he just hadn’t thought…

“ _Your thoughts were the first thing I was ever aware of. I could always hear yours, the thrum of them, like a heartbeat when there was nothing else. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted. I understand if you don’t_ …” he paused, picking words, “ _feel the same way, but I won’t leave you unprotected_.”

“I don’t even know anything about you.” His mouth twisted wryly. “You’ve been waiting all this time and I didn’t even know.” Still, he didn’t want to accept the Persona just because he felt responsible. It would take more than that to build a partnership.

“ _Let me help you. You still want to fight, don’t you?_ ”

“You and Superboy. I _can_ fight on my own,” he replied, exasperated. He nibbled a little on one of the chips.

“ _I have no doubt you would, too._ _But it would be harder, and you wouldn’t have access to the same— What is_ that?”

Tim paused, considering what the Persona could have meant. Nothing had changed in the room, and the only thing he’d done was…

“The potato chip?” he asked slowly, lifting it up for better examination. It was a completely normal potato chip, and Red Robin was freaking him out a little here. Was there something he hadn’t noticed?

“ _May I see?_ ” the Persona asked, and Tim was still a little uncomfortable with the idea of Red Robin in his skin, but he was curious now what had the Persona so off balance.

There was no leather when Red Robin took over, and Tim was briefly surprised that he had so much control without any kind of practice. Then Red Robin was examining the potato chip himself and Tim was too distracted to put more thought into it.  

The Persona put it in his mouth carefully, made a little “Mm!” of apparent surprise, head falling back against the backrest in obvious bliss.

“ _Are you alright?_ ” Tim asked, concerned.

“Does everything taste like this?” he asked, meticulously licking Tim’s fingers clean of salt. He was ridiculously precise about it, little flicks of his tongue laving the pads of his fingers.

“ _Not really_ ,” Tim replied, amused despite himself as he watched Red Robin’s tongue lave wetly at the V between the fingers. It _tickled_ , alright?

“Hmm,” Red Robin replied thoughtfully, taking two fingers into his mouth entirely now, carefully avoiding the graze of teeth as he sucked on them. The salt was all gone though, and he pulled them out, spreading the fingers wide for examination. Then he licked at Tim’s palm. It made Tim’s fingers curl a little.

“ _What are you_ doing?” he asked, uncomfortably warm and definitely siding on flushed and embarrassed now.

“Seeing if you taste good too,” the Persona replied, watching his fingers curl curiously.

“ _Oh no_ ,” Tim said, tugging pointedly at the hand, “ _we are not going there. Give me back control if you’re not going to eat the chips!_ ” In retrospect, pointing out there was still an entire bag was probably a bad idea. He especially regretted it a minute later, trying not to squirm as Red Robin fastidiously licked his fingers clean again, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

If he ended up orgasming from potato chips he was never going to live it down. He was still blackmailing Dick with that time he'd found Nightwing draped over the counter, knees hanging off one side and head off the other, completely blissed out with a bowl of Crocky Crunch. He was definitely going to have to make sure the man never found out about this.

But, he realized belatedly, staring at his ceiling wonderingly a couple hours later, he’d been too caught up in embarrassment all evening to worry about the phantom itch of crippling pain that didn’t exist anymore. He hadn’t thought about it even once for hours. It had almost felt like any regular evening from before he’d lost Robin. Normal.

The next day he ended up picking up one of everything in the vending machine, bringing it back to his room just so he could watch Red Robin try it all. They would burn it all off if they went patrolling all night anyway. He wasn’t sure when he’d decided they were doing this thing for real—working together as a team, sticking together long term—but somehow between one night and the next he’d just accepted it.

Maybe it was how easily the Persona had slipped into the hole Robin left. Maybe it was his love of potato chips. How easy it felt to just go with it. He was already falling back into familiar routines, his body accommodating for a Persona the way it always had. Red Robin was actually better at synchronizing with him than Robin had been, and he’d been working with Robin for _years_. If that wasn’t proof Red Robin was his, nothing was.

* * *

“Tiiiiiim…” Conner couldn’t help the exasperation as he shoved their door open. The white menace that had been hounding him all day happily bounded into their room around his feet. Okay, it was a _cute_ menace—waiting for him outside every class, puppy-dog eyes and all—but he was going to get into serious trouble if anyone found it in the dorms. He didn’t even know where it had come from or why it had stuck with him, it had just been there, grinning lopsidedly at him from his ankles when he’d come back to himself standing in the grass outside fourth period.

He was hoping the unexpected intrusion in their room would at least cheer Tim up, assuming his roommate wasn’t allergic to animals. The other boy had been listless ever since that night Conner had found him all wrapped up and bedraggled in his afghan.

“Conner!” Tim exclaimed from his desk, immediately knocking an empty chip bag off the wooden surface and into the garbage can like it was some kind of guilty evidence. He looked strangely flustered. Still, it was a nice change from the dispirited slump of his shoulders the last couple days. “I see you’ve found a friend!”

“He’s been following me for literally half the day. I can’t get rid of him.” He knelt down to take the dog’s face in his hands and scratch behind his ears. “I’d keep you if I could, buddy, but there are rules. Don’t you have an owner?”

“If you didn’t want him to follow you,” Tim said, amused, “you could’ve chased him off.”

“Nothing works. Watch.” He made a sharp, shooing gesture. “Git! Go home!” The dog immediately gave him the I-see-how-it-is eyes and trotted over to Tim, to lie down at his feet and wag its tail hopefully. Conner watched this behavior in dismay—ever since the dog had shown up, it had never gone to anyone else, no matter how hard he’d tried. His gaze shifted suspiciously up to Tim. It was another one of those Tim anomalies—the black hole of oddities that seemed localized to his roommate. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Lots of things.” Tim leaned down to pet their new troublemaker. “Maybe I just have a way with dogs.”

Whatever had perked him up was fading now though as his fingers sifted through soft, white fur, his expression turning melancholy, and that was no good. Here Conner had been trying to cheer him up and instead he’d managed to make him all despondent again. Seriously, who got all sad and guilty when they had furry balls of happiness at their feet? Maybe the dog reminded Tim of a pet he’d lost or something. Great, it was just his luck. He gave the dog a stern look, one that said, “You are failing at your only duty.”

“We’ll have to find a home for him,” Tim continued.

“I’ll talk to Ma. There’s lots of room for him to run around on the farm. At least until we can get some posters up and try to find his owner.”

“Posters.” Tim’s face was blank. Too blank.

“Lost and found. _Dude_ , how haven’t you heard of this?”

“It’s just… I’ve seen this dog around. I don’t think he has a home.”

“We should at least try.” Conner hummed, watching the dog get all of Tim’s affection. “What do we call him?”

“What about Crypto but with a K?”

“Krypto?” Conner asked dubiously. “Like, where people are buried?”

“Not _that_ kind of crypt. Crypt like cryptic, because we don’t know where he came from. It’s a mystery.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to name him since I was the one he followed home?”

But Tim was already making goofy faces at Krypto, attention one-hundred-percent on the dog.

“You like that, right? You want to be Krypto?” And Krypto, the traitor, was jumping around excitedly, tail wagging, licking Tim’s face. At least Tim was laughing now, the first time Conner had ever heard him laugh. “You’re definitely a Krypto!”

He wanted to ask Tim to show him the data from the tracking device, wanted to see if his friend could help him recognize any patterns emerging from the last couple days (there were entire dogs appearing out of the ether now!), but watching Tim make funny faces at their little troublemaker, laughing for the first time Conner could remember, he thought maybe not quite yet.

* * *

Later the next day Tim locked himself in their small bathroom and stepped deliberately in front of the mirror. He couldn’t avoid a shower forever, couldn’t avoid _this_ —this confrontation—and he didn’t want to. It wasn’t in his nature to avoid problems, and he already felt a sort of tentative camaraderie with Red Robin. Maybe it was the shared experience of expelling the wolf, or the way Red Robin’s mostly silent company felt a lot like having Robin around again, or the way the Persona almost fit better than Robin—a strangely comfortable feeling he couldn’t quite pin down.

It was time to get to know each other properly. After all, he could feel the city’s call under his skin as well as the Persona—the thrum of distressed wishes—and it was only a matter of time until one of them called loud enough that they couldn’t ignore it.

Buttons slipped free under deft fingers, the too-formal uniform coming apart as he stripped methodically slow down to his skin in front of the mirror. He knew Red Robin was watching, the Persona’s silent presence heavy in his mind. Cataloguing details unobtrusively, not judging.

When the last sock joined the pile of discarded clothing at his feet, he stood back up, boldly meeting the gaze of his reflection. The mirror displayed the stark truth of himself: sharp blue eyes beneath black lashes, the pale, elegant lines of his face offset by the silken shadows of his hair. He let his gaze slide down his reflection, let Red Robin take it all in, as much honesty as he could give him. When he reached the end of the mirror, where it cut off mid-thigh, he paused. Then he looked back up, meeting his own eyes.

“Let me see you.”

Leather blossomed over his reflection. It was so familiar it took his breath away—the feel of it, soft and pliant over his skin. He could feel Red Robin everywhere—only his mouth freed to vulnerable air—the way the Persona hugged his body, sculpted to his waist, thighs, and spine. He’d been wearing clothes the first time, thank heavens, because this was so much more intimate. He was pretty sure Red Robin could feel him _breathe_.

Then he really took in the changes reflected in the mirror and immediately forgot about the shared intimacy.

“Oh.” He tugged curiously at the cape, feeling out the weight with little tugs at the material and adopting the differences easily. Then he turned his head to test the new restrictions of a cowl, adjusting to the changes there as well. It didn’t feel wrong in the way he expected it to, the way it should have with such a large difference. Had he Wished for that?

He fingered the bandoliers with the same insatiable curiously, checking each compartment despite the strangely instinctual knowledge of their contents—things he’d always wished he had more space to carry—before letting his fingers slide down to the weight of the utility belt snugged around his waist. This was more familiar. He caressed the leather, measuring distances with his fingers as he searched out the latches.

Halfway through opening one he paused, stalled by the sudden worry that the Persona might mind him poking around so much. Did Red Robin find his tactile exploration invasive?

“ _Sufficient?_ ” Red Robin asked when his pause lasted a beat too long, and Tim shook his head.

“No. I just thought… do you mind?”

“ _You’re my vessel, Tim_ ,” came the amused response. “ _You can touch me_.”

“Then I want to know everything!” He spent the next half an hour examining every seam and inch of the Persona with growing fascination, mostly to Red Robin’s silent amusement. When he was done, he just stood in front of the mirror for another minute, cowl down, fingers rubbing the edges of the symbol on his chest where the bandoliers crossed. He was something new now. Something stronger.

“Sufficient,” he finally said, letting his hand fall to his side, and the leather vanished off his skin like a mirage.

“ _My turn_.”

“Your turn,” he agreed. “I need a shower anyway.” And he needed to know how fine-tuned Red Robin’s control over his body was. There was no way he was patrolling until he was sure the Persona knew what he was doing.

There was that same familiar, _focused_ feel in the back of his head when the water came on, and it was such a cat thing to whiplash focus like that. Probably the noise in this case, Tim thought. Once he’d adjusted the water and stepped in, Red Robin took control, investigating for himself. He blinked up into the spray for a minute, then held Tim’s hands out to feel it pelt against his skin, fascinated by the way the droplets ran down his arms. Frowning, he licked them curiously off Tim’s fingers while Tim tried not to laugh.

“ _It’s just water_ ,” Tim told him, amused.

“I _know_ , but I’ve never felt it or tasted it or seen it. I’ve never been wet before.”

Eventually he turned to mapping Tim’s body, sliding a hand through his hair to finger the wet, black locks, the way they clung to his neck. From there to his throat, stroking the hollow softly, cataloguing sensations. The inspection was all done in quiet reverence, mapping him by degrees.

Tim managed to endure ten minutes of examination before he decided to put the Persona’s curiosity to better use.

“We should get clean before the warm water runs out,” he explained, retaking control in order to reach for the soap.  Except Red Robin was just as fascinated by that and wanted to see it, which resulted in letting the Persona take back control of his hands and another thorough examination, this time with soap lather and bubbles.

It was probably the most extensive washing of his life, soap massaged into every inch. And while the press of soapy fingers between his toes and over the bottoms of his feet wrung breathy laughter out of him, the hard bar of soap got an entirely different reaction when rubbed over his nipples, especially when followed by the gentle tug of fingers working the suds in. Tim couldn’t hide the little gasp he sucked in or his body’s interest. Unfortunately, Red Robin was just as fascinated by this reaction as the laughter, and spent extra time rubbing a rough thumb over his nipple until Tim was practically squirming. The Persona finally released the nub only to slide purposefully downward, and Tim sucked in a sharper breath of realization.

“I think I should—” he started urgently, but Red Robin’s hand was already between his legs, massaging soap into the skin with the same dedication as everywhere else, and Tim’s teeth clicked closed, clamping down on any embarrassing noises. It took all his willpower to keep quiet.

Finally the Persona let go, fingers slipping away. Tim was about to sigh in relief when he realized they weren’t letting go so much as moving backward, sliding along his cleft, working soap into his skin, pushing curiously back until they brushed the tight pucker at his anus. Tim shifted his hips, hoping the touch would continue on, but the Persona only pushed a little harder, kneading at the knot of muscle.

“Red Robin, wait,” Tim said, breathless again.

“ _I want to know_ everything,” Red Robin replied, practically purred, index finger pressing down perfectly, making him clench in anticipation. Tim swallowed, eyes widening at the reciprocation of his own earlier sentiment. At its portent.

He’d unlocked all of Red Robin’s secrets, explored him inside and out, and now the Persona intended to repay him in kind.

“Oh jeez!” But the Persona’s finger was already slipping deep inside him, and he arched at the intrusion, nearly hitting his head on one of the knobs. Red Robin did pause then, perhaps worried about his reaction or perhaps waiting for him to deliver a valid argument. If it had been difficult enough to think with the hand between his legs though, it was a lot more difficult with the slender index finger buried in his hole. “Never,” he managed breathlessly before swallowing and starting over. “Never done it like this before.” If it had been Robin, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but he didn’t know this Persona very well, and Red Robin seemed less prone to respecting boundaries.

“ _Then we’ll figure it out together. Let me finish getting you clean_.” That was nearly calculating. Tim blinked up into the spray, because what had he gotten himself into?

The finger inside him pushed in a little farther, testing, slowly feeling him out, and it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant exploration. Tim shifted his hips around it indecisively. The finger was slippery inside him, soap lather squelching around the intrusion as Red Robin circled it, slowly massaging. No, he decided, as the Persona’s work slowly massaged his misgivings away, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact, the longer Red Robin rubbed curiously against his inner walls, forcing soap lather up inside him, the more it became decidedly pleasant, his body easing into the notion.

“Oh.” Tim sucked in a sustaining breath, muscles tightening reflexively against the pleasure uncurling inside him.

“ _I want to learn you_ ,” Red Robin replied fervently. “ _Your tells and your response times. What makes you come undone, and what makes you resist. What makes you feel good._ ” Tim could feel it: how slick he was inside, soap lather dripping out of him. There was a sucking sensation and a wet squelch as the Persona’s finger pulled out and plunged back in again, and there was something to say for that, for the thought of all those suds sloshing around in there, cleaning him out so thoroughly. He clenched emptily on them as Red Robin’s fingertip  paused to massage his soap-slick rim for a minute. He could feel the gentle stretch of it, the oddly pleasurable sensation of being opened up this way. That single finger was so slender inside him though, barely stretching him at all. When it pressed back up into him again, he clenched down on it and wiggled his hips, wanton, seeking.

“Then stop holding back.”

“ _As you Wish_.” If the phrasing was facetious at all, Tim couldn’t tell. A second finger immediately prodded at his opening promisingly. Then it was pushing up into him, opening him up until it was sheathed just as deeply as the first. He could feel them just resting inside him, feel the heat fluttering around his own fingers, the tight pulse of his own desire. He could feel the way his hole stretched deliciously to accommodate them.

Then they were moving, sliding against slick inner walls, massaging tight muscles. Right up until they curled into his prostate.

“ _Nn!_ ” Tim nearly hit his head again, jerking backward with a keen, shuddering everywhere.

“ _Beautiful_ ,” Red Robin declared, kneading at the spot until Tim was leaning heavily against the tile, trembling, mouth open around a string of embarrassing mewls.

Before he could quite fall apart, the kneading motion transitioned into quick little thrusts, pumping into him. Each stroke scraped his prostrate. His hips jerked, trying to meet it, trying to screw himself deeper. The soap was still making that pleasant, squelching noise with each inward thrust, and he trembled with the knowledge of how nice and slick Red Robin had made him.

He slid slowly down the tile onto his knees at the bottom, legs splayed and trembling as Red Robin’s fingers still plunged in and out of him. He was so close, brought right to the edge just by the sharp thrill of his own fingers expertly working inside him.

“ _You feel amazing inside, Tim. All soft and warm and tight with pleasure_.”

Tim could feel the Persona’s grip, manifested in leather swaths at his hips, pulling him down onto his own fingers, forcing him in deep. The suggestion of leather at the back of his skull was Red Robin reminding him to look down. “ _I want to see you. I want to watch_.” He flushed at the thick voice in the back of his head. But he could see his own penis now, hot and heavy between his legs, watch it tremble with every thrust of fingers against his prostate. “ _I can feel how close you are. Show me_.” Red Robin thrust in one last time and Tim came, spurting against the white walls around him again and again as the Persona worked him through it. Only when Tim was shuddering, clenching emptily around his fingers did Red Robin’s grip relax, easing him down against the porcelain.

Afterward he lay, sprawled loosely against the bottom of the tub, letting the spray wash him clean. He stared up dizzily at the pouring water and couldn’t help but feel that he’d been laid open, everything bared for Red Robin’s perusal. Maybe he shouldn’t have let the Persona in so much, but if he was going to trust him with his body, it didn’t make sense to hold anything back.

Red Robin seemed ridiculously pleased with the outcome.

“ _We should take showers more often_ ,” the Persona mused, petting him absently. That was definitely petting, the fond little strokes of a thumb against his abdomen, fingers splayed possessively through his pubic hair. Tim snorted.

“I could probably go a _month_ between showers if you get me this clean every time.”

It took a ridiculously long time to work up the will to go get a towel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on Red Robin’s humor: “As you Wish” was initially a lowercase wish, since he was referring more to a desire than a Persona. It was my beta, All Seer, who (in a stroke of genius) suggested uppercasing it. Without seeing the word, Tim can’t tell the difference for sure, but Red Robin is being silently tongue-in-cheek here, like “I’m going to poke you a little with my phrasing, because what you wish really does become real, I’m living proof.” Even if it doesn't, by following through, Red Robin is making it real. 
> 
> **Next time:** Red Robin scares Conner out of ten years of sleep. Or: Conner realizes just how many Personas he's involved with. Finally.


	15. The Other Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. Family member ended up with appendicitis on the day I was supposed to post, _and_ I had to completely re-write the last scene after a discussion with my beta (it doubled in size, holy cow, this chapter is so long). There might be a delay on the next chapter too. Depends on how long it takes me to fix a conversation I don't like.

Red Robin stopped just inside the window, a hairsbreadth outside the splash of light it illuminated on the carpet, just this side of the darkness. From the spot he’d claimed on Tim’s empty bed, Krypto’s ears perked up and his tail started thumping. It took Tim a minute to realize they weren’t heading on to bed.

“ _I need rest_ sometime _tonight_ ,” he reminded the Persona.

And it took another minute to realize Red Robin wasn’t just checking that his roommate was safely asleep, but watching the other boy sprawled out on the bed across from his appraisingly, gaze heavy with consideration, roving over the muscular chest, thick biceps, and strong chin.

“You like him.”

“ _What?_ ” But Red Robin was already crossing the carpet purposefully, strides as sure as they were stealthy, only a whisper in the darkness, and Tim’s voice took on a note of worry at this new direction. “ _Wait. What are you doing?_ ”

“He’s good for you. He makes you remember to enjoy things.” They were at the side of Conner’s bed now. Red Robin silently unhooked the black cape that clung to his shoulders, letting it fall away and disappear without a whisper before it could hit the floor. Tim’s worry crescendoed.

“ _Give me back control_ ,” he demanded urgently, feeling very much like a kid trying to reach over an older sibling’s shoulder for the remote, but Red had gently but firmly pressed him back, taking over completely.

“You have to talk to him eventually. The only reason you haven’t is because of me. You think he won’t understand.” The Persona was already slipping onto the bed, hands and knees spread wide around the body haphazardly sprawled there, kneeling over him. Conner looked good, even unconscious, shirt rucked up, mouth slightly ajar in sleep.

Tim had just enough time while Red Robin knelt there, considering their sleeping roommate craftily, to really start to panic.

Then the Persona crushed their lips to the other boy’s mouth, a brutal, demanding pressure to drag Conner up from sleep. And Tim, who was literally the Persona’s skin, couldn’t help but feel everything: the warm, welcome slick of Conner’s mouth, the sharp warning of teeth, the whisper of his breath.

Conner’s eyes snapped open at that point, gasping up into Red Robin’s mouth—Tim’s mouth—in surprise, and for a second they were alien blue—stark and piercing—and Tim thought, _This is it. This is how I’m going to die._

He was already preparing a dozen excuses to babble to the other Persona: it was an accident, I didn’t mean to violate your vessel in the middle of the night, I swear I will never touch him again.

Because Personas could be _possessive_.

But Superboy looked _thrilled_. Blue eyes alight. His hands gripped at Red Robin’s hips, splayed appreciatively across black leather, thumbs digging roughly into the seams.

“Superboy,” Red Robin said into his mouth, voice gone flat and cold for this particular exchange, “we need to talk to Conner.”

“Finally.”

“ _I’m not sure I like how helpful he’s being_ ,” Tim muttered. Superboy was either in on this idea that their vessels were better off together—which was totally unfair—or thought Red Robin somehow worthy and therefore safe to allow around Conner.

Whatever the case, the Persona fell away as quickly as he had come, leaving startled, all-too-natural blue eyes staring up at him—Conner— _and Red Robin was still kissing him_. The Persona’s hand had found their roommate’s chest, holding him down.

He smiled against Conner’s openly aghast mouth, tongue pressing a slow, wet line along the other boy’s lower lip while he was still frozen with shock, before finally pulling back. Then he reached one sleekly gloved hand up, splaying fingers across his own face with all the poise of a performer about to reveal a secret.

If it were possible, Tim panicked more than before, realizing what was coming.

“ _Don’t you dare_ ,” he threatened, because as bad as the situation was, at least Red Robin’s cowl gave him some kind of anonymity. But it was too late. The Persona’s fingers curled, gloved nails raking across his face, as though tearing something away, all flare and show.

The cowl shredded into nothingness along the lines of his nails.

Tim fought off the wave of vulnerability that crashed into him then, the phantom constriction of his lungs, because it was his face revealed now in the dark room, the black sweep of his hair and the steely blue of his eyes, the firm, unyielding press of his mouth. His roommate could see him now, all of him, for everything he was. And it was terrifying.

“ _I’ve got you, Tim_ ,” Red Robin said, and the press of leather against his skin, tighter over each shoulder just for a second, felt bracing. “ _Trust me_.”

He did trust the Persona, but they’d only been working together a short time, and he didn’t know what he was thinking.

“Tim?” It came out strangled. Conner’s eyes were only slightly less wide than they had been, sliding now from shock to wariness.  Red Robin’s lips pressed thinner in disappointment, and he leaned down, lips whispering dangerously against the corner of the other boy’s mouth.

“Try again.”

“ _Persona_ …” Conner choked. Even he couldn’t misunderstand with so much evidence literally sitting on top of him.

“You’ve been watching my vessel.”

“Oh jeez!” If it was possible, Conner’s eyes widened farther. “It wasn’t like that!”

“On the contrary.” Red Robin bit him—a little reprimand—humming at the choked sound it produced and sucking on tanned skin for a minute before releasing him. “I think it was exactly like that.”

Conner’s breathing was a little ragged where it fanned against Tim’s skin, and he looked half like he just wanted out from under the crazy Persona pinning him to the bed and half like he wanted to do the pinning, if he could just be certain he wasn’t about to die.

“And if it was?” Conner licked his lips.

Red Robin pulled back to look down at Conner, pleased. “I like honesty. So does Tim. You should tell him.” It was too late for anything _but_ honesty. There was no way to hide now with his mask stripped away, no way to convince himself his roommate would never accept him if he _knew_. Desperately, Tim shoved down the panic fluttering in his chest and tore control away from Red Robin, the Persona dissolving off him all at once. It was suspiciously easy this time, Red Robin giving in with a pleased little _hm_. Then Tim was in control.

He reared back with a gasp, like a swimmer pulling up from the water, only to stare down at Conner. He could feel how wide his eyes were.

“I’m so sorry!” he said. “Red Robin’s kind of new to the whole _personal space_ thing.”

“Tim?” Conner asked, very obviously still freaking out a little himself, voice hitched a bit too high and fast in disbelief. “Did you know you have a Persona?” Like maybe he hadn’t noticed. Like maybe Conner was trying to break this news to him while still dealing with it himself.

“Red Robin,” Tim corrected, the phantom feel of leather still an itch along his skin. Conner licked his lip, and Tim’s gaze jerked down at the motion, following it. He’d been kissing those lips not thirty seconds ago. He’d been kissing them and he’d _liked it_. He forced his gaze back up to Conner’s eyes, and he should have been scrambling to get _off the bed_ , but his arms and legs were still half paralyzed in mortification.

“Is it alright?” Tim asked finally, nervous. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking was alright: the fact that Conner’s roommate was housing a vigilante Persona that prowled the city every night, the fact that said Persona had practically pounced on and mauled him in the middle of the night, or the fact that he definitely wanted to do it again.

“It’s fine,” Conner replied, a little more controlled now as he adjusted to all the revelations, and surprisingly obliging. “Definitely not the worst way I’ve woken up. You’re welcome to do that again. Whenever you want.” Conner reached up then, only a little hesitantly, hands wrapping around the back of Tim’s neck to pull him back down and kiss him slower this time, less demandingly. Tim made some noise in the back of his throat when Conner pulled back after only a few seconds, but it was only to whisper musingly into his mouth, “You can even keep the leather.”

Tim expelled a breath of air he hadn’t even known he was holding and shook his head despairingly.

“You would.” But then Conner’s tongue was sliding back into his mouth distractingly, licking him out until he was a panting mess, half draped over his roommate’s body. Conner’s hands found his hips, pulling him down tighter, and somehow that broke the drugged fog Conner’s kisses had lured him into.

“I should…” Tim glanced over at his own bed.

“Never.” Conner wrapped a possessive arm around his middle, rolling them suddenly so Tim was snuggled up next to his side on the mattress. “Your Persona didn’t practically gift wrap you just so I could let you get away.”

“Gift-wrapped!” Tim huffed, squirming a little, but before he could get comfortable Conner suddenly stilled. Tim glanced over at him questioningly.

“Red Robin isn’t going to hunt me down for mauling his vessel, is he?”

“Only if you cheat on me,” Tim replied smugly and pulled Conner’s suddenly tense arm over him. Let his roommate worry about _that_ for awhile.

He took a minute to get comfortable tucked against Conner’s chest, one of Conner’s hands splayed comfortably over his hip. It was warmer here than in his own bed anyway, and Conner’s hard body next to his was… really nice. So was the thoughtful stroke of Conner’s thumb against his hip.

“So that’s your secret?” he mused. “This entire time you’ve been going leather-fetish and running around the city all night?”

“Mm,” Tim acknowledged tiredly.

“That’s kind of awesome.”

Tim couldn’t help the content smile that curled at the corners of his mouth.

“ _Red Robin’s_ kind of awesome.”

“He’s kind of _intimidating_.”

“That too. But you get used to it.”

“So I have to share you?” Conner asked after a minute.

“If you want me.”

“But I can do you with the leather on?”

“You have absolutely no shame,” Tim groaned, flushing. “But yes.”

“ _Doing you without leather would be the trick_ ,” Red Robin mused possessively, said leather solidifying demonstratively along the side Conner hadn’t claimed, making Tim squirm for a minute.

“Worth it,” Conner sighed, burying his nose happily in the nape of Tim’s neck. “You look hot in red and black.” Tim snorted, eyes already half closed.

He dozed off to Red Robin’s amused hum in his head and the warm grip of the two of them holding him tight, only jostled awake once when Krypto jumped onto the bed to curl up at his feet.

* * *

“Again?” Tim asked pityingly, sitting down on the end of his bed, which was as close to the middle of the room as he could get. If Conner continued pacing his current path, he’d trip over him. It was not the first time he’d come back to find his roommate panicking in their room after walking out in the middle of class, unable to remember the walking out part.

He materialized one of Red Robin’s stylized shurikens, spinning it absently between his fingers.

“ _Being obvious?_ ” Red Robin asked silkily.

“ _If it helps_ ,” Tim replied, unabashed. “ _It probably won’t. The only kind of hint he’d notice is a Louisville Slugger to the head_.”

“Yeah.” Conner rubbed at his temple like he could feel that Slugger. “And don’t give me that innocent act. I know you know something about it.”

“True. Tell me anyway.”

“It was English this time. I don’t remember a bit of it.”

Tim did. He especially remembered the teacher’s splutters as Conner blatantly ignored him, walking from the room. Conner was getting a reputation as the rebellious one. Enough so that Kip had gone out of his way after class to not-so-subtly hint that hanging out with Conner was tarnishing Tim’s reputation.

“I can copy off a set of my notes,” he offered.

“I just can’t figure out— Wait.” Conner’s eyes had riveted to him with sudden, sharp suspicion—his roommate, sitting there, trying to make the hint so obvious he couldn’t help but trip over it. “How did you first realize you had a Persona?”

“Mostly I blacked out a lot.” Tim smirked, ridiculously pleased to give Conner that piece of the puzzle now that he’d asked, now that he was on the right track.

“ _Finally_ ,” Red Robin added.

Conner’s eyes went wide and unfocused and he swayed in place.

“Oh jeez. I have one too, don’t I?”

Tim nodded pityingly.

“Oh jeez,” he repeated, knees buckling as the gravity of the answer hit him, and he thumped unceremoniously onto the bed opposite Tim.

“It takes some getting used to,” Tim agreed, “but once you adjust it’s actually pretty awesome.”

“This is…” Conner blinked for a minute, overwhelmed, putting it all together. “This is really… It’s great! You know what this means? I’m not crazy!”

“No,” Tim agreed, amused. “You were never crazy.”

“Who is it?” Conner asked, leaning forward in sudden enthusiasm. “Do I have cool powers? Can I fly? Can I shoot lasers out of my eyes?”

“ _Oh yes, they were made for each other_ ,” Red Robin said, amused, but Conner was still talking.

“No, don’t tell me!” He looked wildly about the room. “Who all is in this city anyway? And don’t say Batgirl!”

“ _It’s sad how few of us he knows_.”

“ _Hush. He’s new. And_ you _only know because you stalked me for a year._ ”

The heater came on with a muffled clang then and Red Robin’s laser-focus swiveled to the noise, alert, before settling again a moment later. Tim only sat, pleasantly occupied watching Conner freak out.

“I don’t know, have you tried the paper lately?” And finally, _finally_ something seemed to click behind his roommate’s eyes.

“Is it Superboy?” The slow, coy spread of Tim’s grin was surely enough of an answer, but he hopped off the bed anyway, shuriken vanishing between his fingers, to come sit on Conner’s lap, knees wrapping around the other boy’s waist like they belonged there.

“I knew you’d figure it out.” He rocked forward, fingers sliding around Conner’s neck and catching in the hollow at the base of his skull for purchase.

Conner overbalanced anyway, landing splayed across the bed, Tim snugged around him.

“Superboy? Seriously?” he asked, grinning dopily up at the ceiling, utterly euphoric from having Tim in his lap and his largest problem solved. “That explains a lot. Is that why I haven’t gotten a single bruise lately?”

“My punches do not suck.” Tim felt this was a good time to re-emphasize that fact, glowering at him for good measure. Conner laughed.

“Maybe not. I’ll definitely need proof, seeing as you’re so small.” Tim squirmed in annoyance atop him, kneeing him a couple times for justice, but Conner only settled a hand on his hip, stilling him. He looked up at Tim, sort of awed, fingers of one hand toying with the ends of Tim’s hair. “How did I ever win someone as amazing as you?”

“You were ridiculously honest about your intentions,” Tim replied, then leaned down seriously. “ _Ridiculously_ honest.”

“Sheer determination did it for you, really? Because I—” Tim kissed him, cutting him off before he could say something dopey, and the hand on his hip tightened agreeably. He definitely liked Conner’s mouth best when it was on his, tongue learning the shape of his own, showing him he meant all those things he said. He loved the strong hands on him, loved that he didn’t have to hold back or hide his own strength, didn’t have to soften the demanding scrape of his nails against Conner’s skull. But he especially loved the way Conner just accepted the hard, challenging occupancy of his mouth and unfailingly coaxed the kiss into something gentler. Something that made him burn slow and hot.

When he pulled back for air, it was to find that Conner’s eyes were too bright, alien blue, and that was sobering. He wondered how much of the kiss Conner had gotten to enjoy. Most of it, he thought, because he hadn’t noticed anything different a moment ago. Maybe he had a little bit of tact after all.

“Superboy,” he acknowledged, wetting flushed lips contentedly. Mostly contentedly, since his partner had just been switched out on him.

“You knew who I was the entire time, didn’t you?”

“How do you figure?” Tim asked noncommittally. Red Robin was the brooding silence in his head, not entirely happy that another Persona had hands on his vessel. Like he thought Tim might decide he liked Superboy better.

“You weren’t the least bit surprised when I left you with Conner, you seem perfectly capable of identifying which of us you’re talking to, and it explains the excessive violence.”

“ _Necessary_ violence.”

“You decked Conner for trying to _help_ you.” Well, there was _that_.

“Technically he was obstructing a murder investigation.”

Superboy looked at him meaningfully.

“It was excessive.”

“You didn’t even let him get bruised,” Tim pointed out. Superboy’s hands were on his waist, squeezing warmly, just the right amount of hard, making him squirm.

“Of course not.” His eyes narrowed curiously. “You obviously knew that would happen, so why are you annoyed?”

“What if I want to leave marks on him?” Tim asked, eyebrows raised. His fingers brushed Conner’s throat meaningfully. Superboy’s sudden grin was wolfish.

“You’ll have to ask nicely.”

Obviously this was going to require some negotiating. Luckily, Tim was proficient in mediation. Especially when another company had an asset he desired. His eyes narrowed consideringly.

“Every time you hit on Red Robin, I get to mark Conner.”

“ _We both know he’d be absolutely mottled within a week_ ,” Red Robin interjected, ever the voice of solemn reason.

“ _Yes, but you always start in your own favor_.”

“Oh hell no,” Superboy replied. “Every time he lets me kiss him.”

“ _Not happening_ ,” Red Robin ground out. “ _And when did this become about me?_ ”

“Every time you use your TTK on one of us without asking,” Tim shot back.

“Every time you admit you like it.”

“How about when we don’t punch you in the face for it?”

“Deal.”

“Good.” Tim smirked in satisfaction. “So instead of attempting to discolor your face every time you annoy us, I get to discolor you… elsewhere.”

“But it’ll be more enjoyable.” Superboy’s thumb was rubbing distracting circles over the jut of his hip bone. “And you’ll have that pretty mouth on me.”

“On Conner.”

“But I’ll still get to feel it.”

“You’re going to tell him about our deal then?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly, because Superboy still hadn’t fessed up to his vessel, and the reasons for putting it off were dwindling. “You didn't take Robin's advice.”

“It's been a busy week,” Superboy replied, half distracted by mapping the hem of Tim’s blazer along his hips.

“Conner knows now. You should talk to him. He can handle it.”

“I know.”  Superboy’s eyes met his reluctantly. “It’s just a matter of approaching him right.” His hands settled on Tim’s hips entreatingly.

“You need someone to ground him so he doesn’t freak out,” Tim surmised. Someone he trusted. Someone who could relate. Tim knew all about how alarming that first interaction could be.  

“You keep him from running and I’ll try to talk him down.”

Now they were speaking the same language.

* * *

Conner blinked up at the ceiling, brows furrowed because he was certain he’d just been kissing Tim. He distinctly remembered Tim’s warm mouth, Tim’s soft breath on his cheek, Tim’s blunt nails in his hair. Now it was gone. Replaced by a slobbery dog tongue licking exuberantly at his face. Like he’d misplaced something in the interim between seconds.

At least he knew what the problem was now, and boy, had he not seen that one coming.

Personas had been a frequent topic of conversation with his friends: who knew the most people who had one, which one was best, what it would be like to have a high-level, stable Persona like Superman who never shorted out. He’d known on some level that the superhero Personas they all idolized were different, more complex than the handful of folks in his home town who could sometimes cause crops to grow too fast or make harvesters and other equipment appear (which never failed to make everyone in sight come running, if only to watch them vanish halfway through getting the job done). But in all his imaginings, he’d never once associated Personas with amnesia, let alone actual _sentience_.

Then Red Robin had pried him from sleep for a heart to heart. His roommate’s Persona. Who was apparently offended that they hadn’t been introduced. _Tim_ had one of those high-level, superhero Personas, and it could be _offended_. There went any previous notions he’d had about his heroes. Red Robin hadn’t been anything like he’d expected, but he’d been awesome anyway.

And now he was getting the dog-washing of his life while he contemplated which life choices had led to him losing consciousness for a kiss.

He pushed Krypto away, lifting his head from where he was still lying on the bed to find Tim sitting up a couple feet away on the blankets, eyeing him patiently.

“Were you just talking to Superboy?” Conner asked, aghast.

“He wanted a word,” Tim admitted.

Superboy had awful timing, he decided. Terrible, relationship-wrecking timing. Still, this was going to be his life now. The thought was overwhelming. He was going to have to get used to interrupted kisses and missed classes because Superboy needed him. Just that quickly, the annoyance turned to nervousness.

“Did he say anything about me?”

“We’ve come to a few agreements, yes.”

“Agreements?” Conner asked warily. “What agreements?”

“Sharing,” Tim clipped the word off succinctly, leaning forward with it, gaze riveted to his so there could be no doubt what they were sharing. Conner swallowed, because suddenly his splayed out position on the bed felt more like a display of particularly savory apple pie. Before he could get anything out of his suddenly dry mouth, Tim continued. “Superboy is going to tell you all about it.”

And that revelation wiped everything else out of his head.

“He can _talk_ to me?”

“ _I’ve_ always _been able to talk._ ” The voice came with an indignant snort.

Conner reacted with all the eloquence of an electrocution victim.

“Yaaaah!” He was up and off the bed in half a second, startling Krypto, so quickly he barely registered moving. But as quick as it was, Tim was quicker. Sweeping his feet out from under him. Knocking him right back onto the bed.

“Don’t run. It won’t help,” Tim suggested from the _exact same spot_ , like he’d never moved or the last five seconds had never happened. Any other time Conner would have been eyeing his roommate warily, because the stinging along the backs of both calves didn’t match with any tool in Tim’s suspiciously empty hands, and he was fairly certain Red Robin had been involved in that stunt somehow—Tim looked far too innocent. As it was, he was way too preoccupied with the _voice_ still muttering  in his _head_.  

“ _Can’t talk. What am I, a pet?_ ”

Conner blinked up at the ceiling for the second time in five minutes, eyes huge, and tried not to hyperventilate. His fingers may or may not have been gouging holes in the comforter like it was the only thing between him and undiluted madness.

“Tim,” he whispered urgently, tugging on his roommate’s shirt like he didn’t already have his full attention. “ _Tim_. I think a superhero is talking to me.”

“You _are_ a superhero,” Tim whispered conspiratorially back. He was definitely laughing at him. Openly. A soft, breathless laugh. Eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe you should try talking back.”

“Right. Yeah.” Because that made perfect sense. Let’s _respond_ to the voices in his head. Okay, he might have been a tiny bit hysterical.

“ _I_ told _Tim you’d react like this_.”

“Holy S-Shield,” Conner breathed, and he couldn’t stop repeating it. “Holy S-Shield! Holy—”

“Deep breaths,” Tim suggested. Krypto whined worriedly where he had curled up beside Tim, and somehow that was what got through to him.

“ _Right_ ,” Conner replied, a little too quickly, and tried again. “Right.” He swallowed past his dry throat and finally took that breath. The silence in his head was obvious now, his Persona patiently waiting for him to _get a grip_.

His Persona. Superboy was _his_ Persona. Superboy had chosen him and he was screwing it up.

He forced his fingers to uncurl from the blankets, sitting up as the hysteria slowly faded.

“Superboy?”

“ _You always wanted a super cool Persona, right?_ ”

“Is that even a question?” The laugh that whooshed out of him was a little too choked. “I never really thought I’d even get to meet you...” He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “You’re really mine?”

“ _What can I say, you have good taste_ ,” Superboy replied, and the disbelieving laugh it startled from Conner was a little more honest this time.

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that since you stuck with me?”

“ _Like there was any competition._ ”

“But this means…” He straightened excitedly. “I can bench press giant robots. And I can fly now, right? Tell me I can fly!”

“I wouldn’t suggest jumping off roofs anytime soon,” Tim warned. “Not that Superboy would let you get hurt...”

“I _can fly,_ ” Superboy added. “ _You’re… going to have to practice_.”

“You can’t even stay conscious when Superboy takes over yet,” Tim continued.

“But I _will_ be able to fly.” Nothing could dampen his excitement just then. Nothing. “This is so amazing! I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I saw you in the paper!”

“ _That_ was _a great picture._ ”

“And Superman, of course. You have _got_ to introduce me!”

“ _About that…_ ” Superboy actually sounded nervous. What did an invulnerable Persona have to be nervous about? “ _He’s not very happy with me_.”

“What?” Conner asked, a little affronted by the new knowledge that Superman apparently didn’t like his Persona. Maybe the elder Persona just hadn’t gotten to know him yet. That had to be it. “What happened?”

“ _I might have taken an impromptu trip to Hawaii without telling you_.”

Or maybe it was because of _that_.

“You mean you weren’t fighting giant monsters for a week?” He’d just assumed, when he’d finally figured out why he’d been blacking out, that Superboy had needed him. That it had been important. If he’d been rescuing Hawaiian citizens from lava monsters or alien invaders, then it had been a week worth giving up.

“ _There was_ some _fighting._ ”  Superboy had the good grace to sound contrite. “ _And some girls…_ ”

“Dude—!”

“ _I know. I know!_ ”

“I thought I was losing my mind!” Conner grimaced just remembering how panicked he’d been.

“ _I swear I didn’t know it would freak you out. You always seem to need more sleep, so when everyone was excited to see me and even asked me to judge a contest, I didn’t see any reason not to stay a little longer and let you get more rest_.”

“Do you have any idea how worried Ma and Pa were? And don’t get me started on Clark!” Clark had been ridiculously overprotective and wary afterward. Right up until he’d sent Conner away for a year like he didn’t want him anymore. That had hurt.

“ _Conner, I_ really _didn’t mean to upset you. You’re important to me._ ” He sounded honest.

“A week…” Conner muttered.

“ _And if you don’t like me anymore, it’ll make things really difficult_.” Like that was a possibility Superboy even had to worry about. In all the newspaper quotes, the Persona always sounded self-assured and confident, and that sudden nervous worry, more than anything, convinced Conner he honestly felt bad about it all.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“ _It won’t_ ,” Superboy replied,relieved. “ _Besides, Superman wasn’t very happy about it either. He exiled me to Gotham_.” Wait. _Superman_ had exiled them? That didn’t make sense…

“I thought it was Clark who sent me to… Holy S-Shield!” Conner jolted to his feet at the realization, eyes huge… only to end up kung-fu-ed right back onto the bed again, all the air knocked out of him. “ _Dude!_ Would you stop that?” To top it off, Krypto then jumped on him with an excited bark, like repeatedly flattening one of his humans was all some game.

“Deep breaths,” Tim supplied innocently, once again in the same exact spot.

“I don’t need to—” He waved it off, moved Krypto bodily to the bed beside him, and sat up again, too enthused to be put off. “Would you just listen? I think I just figured out who Superman is!”

“Really?” Tim only smiled bemusedly, and Conner realized he already knew. _He already knew_ , the little show off. Conner was still freaking out too much to be truly offended that everyone around him seemed to know more about his situation than he did.

“Holy S-Shield, Superman lives in my _house!_ ”

“ _I live in your house too.._.”

“I can’t believe he’s been Superman this entire time and he _never told me!_ Wait, maybe he doesn’t know...” After all, he, himself, hadn’t known about his own Persona, but…

“He definitely knows,” Tim replied right over top of Superboy’s, “ _No chance of that_.”

“And he never _told me!_ ” Conner repeated indignantly, throwing his hands up in the air.

“ _He’s a jerk_ ,” Superboy replied consolingly. “ _We’re way cooler than them_.”

Conner really needed to move, to walk off some of the pent up excitement from so many revelations.

He started to stand up, paused with one foot on the floor, and looked over at Tim warily. His roommate’s eyes had narrowed, and there was a long staff held securely in his hands that had definitely not been there before. Krypto had pounced forward excitedly, tail wagging, like he thought Tim was going to throw it. Conner, finding himself seconds from having been knocked flat again, glowered his disapproval. That was like trying to plow rock though. Tim just raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“ _No_ ,” Conner said, emphatic, when he failed to phase his roommate via aggravated mental vibes. “No more knocking me flat! I’m _not_ going anywhere. Okay?” Tim considered him for a moment.

“You do seem more in control,” Tim finally relented, and the staff disappeared from his hands, causing Krypto to sink back onto the blankets with a disappointed huff. “He’s all yours, Superboy.”

Conner watched the staff disappear, fascinated. Tim made it look effortless.

“ _They’re pretty amazing_ ,” he thought.

“ _Wait until you see Red Robin in motion_.” Conner only startled a little at the response to a thought he hadn’t even spoken aloud, and he was definitely up and traipsing restlessly across the carpet now, even as Superboy continued. “ _Maybe after I’ve thawed him out. He’s been mad at me ever since he claimed Tim and came to in my arms. Or maybe it’s because I dropped him_...”

“What?” Conner asked, nearly missing a step. “When did this happen?”

“ _When Tim got possessed by the Persona attacking students_.”

“Tim got possessed?!” He jerked to a stop. _How_ was that a better answer? “Tiiiiim…” He shot his roommate an accusatory, you-could-have-told-me, dismayed sort of stare. “Is that what happened? Is that why you’ve been such a wreck?”

“No, that’s just why we got Krypto—” Tim cut off when Conner made a choking noise, waving his hands desperately as if to say, “Stop! Just stop!”

“ _How_ many Personas are living with us exactly?!”

“Just the three that I know of.”

“Just the three,” Conner repeated faintly. Like one wasn’t news enough. Like their dorm room was some sort of shelter for stray Personas. Besides the fact that their dog was apparently a Persona too—he was never going to look at Krypto the same way again—he still had yet to get a straightforward version of the whole story out of anyone. “ _That’s_ it. Superboy, from the beginning this time…”

“ _You know that your classmate was murdered last week. Well…_ ”

Conner listened intently to the whole thing, occasionally exclaiming over some detail, occasionally tripping over Krypto, until the dog gave up with a huff and went to curl up in the corner and Superboy finally came to a stop.

“So you’re saying that while I’ve been unconscious, you two have been fighting off the forces of darkness without me? Together?” Tim had gotten to meet Superboy before him, and he wasn’t even the Persona’s vessel.

“ _They needed fighting_.”

“No more blacking me out.”

“ _But_ —”

“No!” He made a decisive, cutting motion with his hand. “I miss _all_ the good stuff!”

“ _You’re asking me to expose you?_ ” Superboy definitely sounded uncomfortable now.

“It’s not all punching things,” Tim warned, serious face on. “We come across some nasty stuff. Maybe think about it for a bit, and if you’re still serious I can teach you how to stay conscious.”

“ _Tim is a terrible influence on you_ ,” Superboy muttered unhappily. “ _Vessels are supposed to be protected_.”

“Fine. For now just tell me before I black out?”

“ _I can do that_ ,” Superboy agreed, much more readily. That settled, Conner pivoted a little, changing the topic with the new direction of his feet.

“Now. What is this sharing thing Tim mentioned?” Superboy _hmm_ -ed, but otherwise took the change in stride.

“ _If you haven’t noticed, there are two people with a claim on you_.”

“Two?”

“ _You’re_ my _vessel, Conner_.” It was said so possessively, Conner shivered. “ _What you do affects me. Who you choose to_ love _affects me_.” Conner couldn’t help but sneak a sideways glance at Tim, splayed out on his bed, miming eating popcorn. “ _I can give you some privacy_ ,” Superboy continued, “ _but I can’t actually leave if you choose to do anything with Tim_.” His face was definitely getting redder the longer Superboy talked.

“So you’ll know if we...” He couldn’t quite finish that sentence. Finding out he was the conduit for one of his idols? Awesome. Finding out his idol would know every time he had sex? Awkward.

“ _So will Red Robin_.”

 _More_ awkward. But he’d been warned he’d have to share, and that wasn’t as much of a surprise.

“I already figured Red Robin would come all tied up in a bow with Tim,” he muttered, ignoring the pillow chucked at the back of his head. He’d been surprisingly good with that revelation. It had been like finding out his Tim-shaped fascination came in kinky leather packaging.

“ _Yes, well, Tim has also requested that I let him leave marks_.”

At that, Conner jerked around to really take in the boy lounging on his bed. Tim had rolled onto his side, legs splayed, head braced upright on his arm, half lidded blue eyes following Conner across the carpet.

“Kinky,” he whispered and had to swallow.

“ _Mm_ ,” and the voice sounded as distracted as he felt, “ _Having that mouth on us will be worthwhile though_.” And Conner couldn’t have put his own thoughts into better words. There were some details he’d need to work out, but Superboy could stay, he decided. They were going to get along just fine.

It was also an absolute shame to leave Tim like that, he decided as well. Alone and unmolested. His feet were tripping over the carpet between them before he’d even made a conscious decision to move.

“Done with your talk?” Tim asked, moving over to make room as he approached.

“No,” Conner replied, settling on the blankets, “but I want you in my arms for the rest of it. I think you have some questions to answer too...” He reached out—slowly, as though this was all some sort of dream that might evaporate in the sunlight—to reverently brush the curve of Tim’s ear peaking through all that fine, black hair, and watch eyelids sweep closed. “How did you know about Superboy?”

“We sleep in the same room.” Tim tilted his head into the touch. “I saw Superboy come back the first night.”

“ _Little sneak. I should’ve known he was feigning sleep_.”

“So you knew I had a Persona the entire time?” Conner’s fingers reached the bottom of Tim’s ear and shifted course to sift through the ends of silky hair tucked behind it instead, following them back to the soft, little tails at the nape of Tim’s neck.

“Yes, you followed me around for a week straight hitting on me.”

“ _Have you_ seen _those hips in skin-tight leather?_ ” Superboy asked. “Anyone _would follow them around_.”

“Dang,” Conner replied, awed, “even my Persona knows you’re sexy.”

“It was annoying,” Tim replied flatly.

“Dude, I practically had to hit you with a truck to get you to look at me. It was _worth_ it.”

Tim’s expression had gone all stern though, and that was a shame. Conner leaned down to kiss, to brush Tim’s lips with his own, still half expecting to find out this was all some sort of illusion. But he didn’t suddenly wake up when their lips met, nor when he mapped the corners of Tim’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, memorizing the feel and the taste of him. His hand firmed on the nape of Tim’s neck, fingers kneading at muscle until the residual sternness melted into something softer and infinitely more malleable, fitting to his hold. Tim’s lips parted beneath his invitingly, and that...

He had to pull back to stare down at him in amazement. He didn’t mean to leave Tim blinking, indignant little frown furrowing his eyebrows. It was just so much. So much incredible all at once. The boy he’d been pursuing finally in his arms and the smug Persona in his head.

“Superboy,” he mused. “I’m even more awesome than I thought.” Tim rolled his eyes and pulled him back down. He was more than happy to comply, to push his tongue into that pretty mouth and kiss him until he was breathless, flushed, and beautiful.

Gotham was amazing, he decided. Not its days—nothing could beat Smallville’s days, its crisp sun and endless skies—but its nights? They were something else. Dark and smoky-eyed as the boy in his arms, dangerous and desirable.

Maybe he wouldn’t complain so avidly to Clark next time he saw him.

Definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the number of people pointing out how slow Conner was to figure out his problem, I’ve realized that I might have neglected to clarify some details about Personas in this world. While Personas in general are common knowledge, a great majority of them are low-level sentient, the way a cat or a tree might be sentient, incapable of completely suppressing a vessel’s consciousness, certainly not able to communicate with a vessel in any meaningful way. People with these Personas have powers but NOT full-out superhero identities. There are very few complex enough to have their own personalities and take over completely, and that knowledge isn’t widely available to the public (their vessels don’t really go around telling everyone they’re hosting superheroes). So it isn’t until Red Robin freaks Conner out that he finally has an example of superhero = separate personality. 
> 
> Also, this is the version of Red Robin I've been referencing:  
> 


	16. Under His Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Explicit Sexual Content
> 
>  **Notes:** The scenes in this chapter start skipping progressively larger time increments.

There wasn’t so much a noise as a prickling along his nape. Red Robin whirled, bo staff extending in time for him to brace as a fast-moving, blue and black object collided with him. It carried him off the edge of the building and over the street.

Carried was exactly the right word, because there were arms and legs wrapped around him, only held at bay by his staff—a solid line of defense against the body attempting to plaster itself to him midair—and no amount of twisting was getting them off. At the same time, an obnoxiously chipper voice shouted, “New brother!” with all the enthusiasm of “Happy birthday!”

Unnerved, Red Robin struggled harder to detach himself, but by then they’d swung completely across the street over to the next roof, dropping onto it gracelessly. The impact jarred the man’s grip on him just enough to—

“ _It’s Nightwing! Don’t hurt him!_ ”

—dematerialize the staff instead of using it to flip the other Persona right back off the roof. It had been the one solid bar keeping Nightwing from wrapping him up completely though, and without it the sudden extra weight around his torso overbalanced him, tumbling them backwards in a tangle of limbs. He ended up flattened, the other Persona grinning down at him, disturbingly close.

“Well, look at you!” Somehow Nightwing had gotten  ahold of his arm when he wasn’t paying attention, turning it to examine the black vambraces. “You’re so severe…”

Red Robin jerked his hand back with a glower. Nightwing only picked up the end of his cape though, petting it curiously with his fingers.

“Stop that!”

“Ugh, you’re as dark and brooding as the Bat.” Nightwing sat back, arms folded crossly. “It’s an older sibling’s prerogative to adore younger siblings. Don’t worry, we’ll break you in yet, Little Brother.”

“ _You might as well resign yourself_ ,” Tim agreed in his head. “ _The sooner you let him get it out of his system, the sooner he’ll feel he’s fulfilled his brotherly obligations and release you. Giving in is tactical_.”

“B’s going to demand specs anyway.” Nightwing was already eyeing him like he was going to try to _hug_ him again, face unnervingly close, and Red Robin preempted any possible contact with a hand to the other Persona’s face, trying to fend him off.

His family was so weird.

It was mid-tussle for some well-deserved personal space that he realized they weren’t alone on the roof, and he stiffened, immediately trying to stand up, to look somewhat presentable. To at least _not_ let Batman’s first impression of him be bowled over, flattened and mussed. It worked only so well because Nightwing was still semi-attached, arms wrapped around him contentedly.

“Look, B! Timmy’s finally showing his colors!”

Batman was looking at him like he knew exactly whose colors they were though.

“Kryptonite practice,” he growled, arms folded meaningfully. “Tomorrow night. Until you can call it at will.” Coming from Batman, it was the equivalent of getting The Talk.

“ _He’s the one who stuck us in the same room in the first place_ ,” Tim muttered.

“Don’t worry, he’s glad you’re here too.” Nightwing’s hands were on his chest, fingering the bandoliers curiously. “Did you really need all this gear? Doesn’t it weigh you down?”

“He’s well prepared,” Batman countered, and that might have been approval.

Red Robin swatted at the offending hands and bodily backed an amused Nightwing up two feet before turning on Batman.

“I know you set Tim up to keep an eye on Superboy,” he replied.

“Really?” Nightwing asked, perking up interestedly.

“He was resistant to authoritarian figures,” Batman relented. “Superman thought someone his own age might be able to get through to him better. I agreed that he needed to be reined in. Tim was closest to Conner’s age and the most grounded.”

“You mean you saw a boy in need and couldn’t resist helping out,” Nightwing interjected.

“It seems to have worked out,” Batman replied flatly.

“Will he have to leave?” Red Robin asked, but Batman’s answer was noncommittal.

“We’ll talk about it.”

Nightwing was already distracting him though, hooking an arm around his own excitedly. “What has Tim shown you? Bubble wrap? Pancakes?” The Persona tugged him toward the ledge, Batman following like a protective shadow. “Have you tried cereal yet? I’m going to show you everything!”

Red Robin was already resigned. And maybe a little curious. There were still a lot of things Tim wouldn’t let him try. Then Nightwing reached up and tapped his comm.

“Oracle, I need you to record as much footage of the next two hours as you can.”

“ _Abort!_ ” Tim hissed in his head. “ _Abort!_ ”

“What’s so interesting about bubble wrap?” he asked curiously, but Tim only made a painful, choked noise. Nightwing’s grip, meanwhile, tightened promisingly.

“You have so much to learn.”

* * *

Tim woke up hot and sweaty and ridiculously turned on, two fingers pressed inside him. The intrusion was enough of a surprise that he arched up, mouth opening in a shocked “Oh,” heels digging in and sliding on smooth sheets, toes curling into the bedding for purchase. The movement jerked the arm pulled above his head, and something dug sharply into his wrist. An upward glance proved it had been zip tied to the headboard.

That was as far as he got. Black leather wrapped around either thigh then, taking control, pulling him back down on the bed and deeper onto the fingers buried inside him. He moaned at the pleasant burn, stilling at the feel of it. He was still getting his bearings—blinking rapidly at the ceiling, taking in the needy, desperate heat under his skin—when an increasingly familiar mental voice caressed the inside of his skull.

“ _It’s alright. I’ve got you_.” Red Robin’s voice was like velvet inside his head, the same as the soft leather that protected Tim’s body every night. The voice he reserved for Tim. His own fingers pushed slowly in and out of him, leather-clad to the elbow. He could feel the torque on the wrist not tied to the headboard, twisted to get the right angle.

“Red Robin!” He meant the name to be a rebuke—a flustered, half-hearted rebuke maybe, but a rebuke. Instead it came out as more of a gasp as he felt the entirety of two sleek, black fingers disappear inside him.

“ _Yes?_ ” the Persona asked coyly. He was worse than Robin sometimes. Tim struggled to stay focused when his entire body was just one livewire current of _need_ around the Persona’s fingers.

“You were intentionally keeping me down!” There was no way he would have slept through so much manhandling unless the Persona had been holding him in soft slumber.

“ _Only until you were ready_.” He sounded completely unrepentant, and Tim growled into his pillow in frustration even as he shifted his hips around the intrusion: wanton, seeking. Red Robin was impossible.

“When this is over we are going to have a serious talk about personal boundaries and _permission_.”

“ _You enjoy this_ ,” the Persona replied, rubbing slow circles inside him.

“Yes, I— That’s not the point!” he snapped, unable to hold onto the sharp edges of righteous indignation with the sinful caress of his own fingers undoing all his concentration.

Red Robin’s grip on his thighs slipped down his legs, black swaths of leather bleeding artistically along his skin, over calves and around ankles. He was getting good at that. Tim curled his toes against the sensation, the caress of Red Robin’s hold on him.

“ _Let’s make you work for it a little_ ,” the Persona murmured thoughtfully. Then his legs were pulled above his head, one after the other, stretched up to meet opposite corners of the headboard. Tim hissed as it strained the limits of his flexibility. Like a particularly good stretch, it spread a new kind of burn under his skin, keeping him taut. It was perfect.

Red Robin held him there, impossibly bowed, fingers still buried inside him. He could _see_ them at this angle, see where they disappeared into his hole. It made the sharp curl of his lower spine worthwhile where it was curved to accommodate the position, pulling his rear into the air for an unimpeded view of everything between the open V of his legs.

“ _Much better_.” The two fingers inside him pulled out then, and Tim made a displeased noise, wanting them back in. But Red Robin only reached up to tug zip ties snug around either ankle, holding his legs spread out wide against the headboard, holding him open.

“ _Look at you_ ,” and Tim couldn’t help but look because Red Robin was looking, couldn’t help but jerk for the sudden grip tightening around his penis, thumb stroking. Nor could he help the way he clenched emptily, wanting. “ _Look at how desperate you are for my touch_.”

“You cheated,” Tim reminded him, even as he shivered at the caress, at how complete Red Robin’s hold on him was. “While I was _asleep_.” But Red Robin only chuckled, deep and low, stroking him again.

“ _Your body recognizes my claim even when you’re unconscious_.” And Tim wasn’t sure he wanted to think about that, about how accustomed his body was to a Persona’s touch, how Robin had practically conditioned him to the slide of leather. How easy it was for Red Robin to take advantage of that.

“You’re my Persona. Of course I _recognize_ you.” The press of a single leather-clad finger back against his hole jerked him out of his thoughts, distracting him as it kneaded at the muscle promisingly. Before Tim could dwell on it though, the finger curled sharply, pushing down, demanding his attention, and Tim watched the muscle give, watched the finger pull him open, felt the sharp, _wonderful_ curl of it inside him, spreading heat under his skin. And he was already so hot.

It straightened and curled again inside him, slender but purposeful. Slowly sinking in until the entirety of it was buried inside him: a slim, too-thin echo of being filled. Just circling almost imperceptibly slow. Making him _want_.

Leather curled around his calves distractingly, then the soles of Red Robin’s boots pressed against the bottoms of his feet in long strokes from heels to toes, making him squirm and gasp and then _shudder_ when the finger inside him crooked in time with a second pass.

The stimulation from so many sources was overwhelming, pleasure overlapped with the ticklish strokes against the sensitive soles of his feet. He choked on gasped laughter, eyes wet with something second-cousin to mirth. Something needier.

He could feel the finger working inside him. _Stroking_. Sliding easily along inner walls. Whatever lube Red Robin had used before he woke up, there was enough of it inside him to keep him wet and pliant for awhile yet. The ticklish sensation against the soles of his feet stilled, the boots solidifying completely against the headboard, the leather of Red Robin’s uniform completely encasing his lower legs and spreading down now towards him.

Tim’s hips hitched when the leather reached them, not just for the sensation of it parting around his hole, leaving his groin vulnerable and exposed, but for the second finger pushing snugly in beside the first. It slotted back in as though it had never been removed, Tim’s body welcoming it enthusiastically.

Still Red Robin’s skin crept over his own. Black leather bled into red across his torso, the telltale mark of Red Robin’s claim on him in vivid definition, even as the two fingers inside him claimed him, shoving into his slick hole. The embers of Red Robin’s earlier work kindled under his skin, flaring with every slow stroke of fingers against his core and every inch of skin painted with the Persona’s colors.

He tipped his head back dazedly for the clasp of it snug around his throat and closing over his eyes. He’d never been so secure and so vulnerable at the same time. The contradiction had his throat tightening—Red Robin’s skin layering thick and solid over his own, the offered protection that usually accompanied dangerous nightly endeavors, but not protected this time. Not really. Not when it left his groin completely exposed. He could feel the cooler air on his skin, the leather curling in a snug little ring around his hole, leaving just enough of a gap for Red Robin’s fingers.

It hadn’t been very long since Red Robin had bent him over in the shower and cleaned him out until he came all over the pretty porcelain, their relationship still relatively new, and here he was, already bent double again, letting the Persona claim him inside and out, every sweet inch.

Tim’s toes twitched in their boots to be held so securely.  

“ _You like it when I hold you like this_ ,” Red Robin whispered inside his skull knowingly. “ _Sometimes I want to keep you like this, covered in my colors, protected. Let everyone know who you belong to_.”

“The ones who matter already know.” If he orgasmed like this, he’d come all over the Persona. Not that Red Robin seemed ready to allow that anytime soon.

The Persona’s fingers rubbed lazy circles inside him, keeping him on edge but never quite hitting the spot he needed. Tim squirmed in Red Robin’s grip, stretching wantonly beneath the leather, pushing against the Persona’s hold in every direction he could.

“Red, please, just—” Tim started, when it became obvious the Persona wasn’t going to hit it.

“ _Just buying time_ ,” came the reply, and Tim’s suspicion was instant and sharp.

“Buying ti—?”

The squeak of their dorm room’s door interrupted them, and Red Robin vanished off his skin like a mirage except for the gloved fingers holding him open. Tim jerked toward the sound, toward the open square illuminating the room, frozen like a mugger in the spotlight.

“Oh.” Conner stood in the doorway, eyes equally wide and riveted to the scene on his roommate’s bed.

Tim flushed immediately, mouth opening in something half moan and half horror, trying desperately to take back his other hand, the one currently between his legs and working him open. He didn’t succeed, mostly because his concentration was fractured, and he gave up with a strangled sound. Red Robin only used the opportunity to twist it in deeper, satisfaction oozing from him when Tim jerked, openly panting now.

He knew what it must look like. Like he’d lost his mind. Like he’d tied himself naked to his own bed, if Conner hadn’t already had firsthand experience with his _other_ roommate.

“ _I know what you want_.” The slow circles Red Robin had been rubbing inside him hit his prostate just then, and it was like sheet lightning under his skin. He jerked with a wordless cry, clenching down. Not now. Not _now_. Red Robin was pitiless though, kneading at the spot with two fingers as Tim writhed, head thrown back in abandon, open and beautifully undone for Conner’s perusal. And Conner _was_ looking, eyes following the lines of Tim’s body hungrily, but otherwise frozen in place, like he thought moving might break whatever fantasy he’d just walked into.

“ _You want him to join us_.” Tim couldn’t articulate words just then, so Red Robin did it for him, eyes catching Conner’s, smirk twisting Tim’s lips wickedly.

“He’s ready for you.”

Tim groaned at that. At the promise of it. At the use of his own sex-drugged voice to whisper it.

Conner’s eyes lit up hungrily, and he was across the distance in seconds, gaze sliding along the lines of Tim’s body appreciatively.

“I have to tell you, Red, I approve of your work so much right now. Huge fan.”

“Red Robin,” the Persona corrected with a growl, leather wrapping around Tim’s shoulders protectively. “You should know _I_ approve of you mostly for Tim’s sake, and that approval _can_ be withdrawn.” He pulled his fingers from Tim’s hole to wrap a wet hand around the hard line of his penis instead, thumb rubbing purposefully at the head—an absent, slow tease that dragged sweet _hnn_ noises out of the boy in the back of his head. Conner’s eyes followed the movement reverently, the way Red Robin intended, entranced by Tim’s flushed, hard length and the way his thumb came away a little wetter with every encouraging rub over the slit. Conner had to swallow wetly and forcefully meet the Persona’s eyes before he could find his voice again.

“I think you like me more than you admit,” he countered. “In fact, you must trust me a lot to give me Tim all vulnerable like this.”

“Just don’t make me regret it,” the Persona responded flatly, even if it was ridiculously hard to sound threatening with Tim’s throat wet with desire and the boy’s voiceless moans in his head—entirely his for just a few minutes longer, undone and trembling for him, previous protests gone. “The people who make me regret things usually end up tied to fire escapes in dark alleys.”

“I can work with that,” Conner replied fervently, unphased. “If physical violence is your thing, I mean. I’m pretty sure Superboy is invulnerable.”  

“You’re impossible.” Red Robin’s head fell back in annoyance, fingers stilling, because Tim was close, _too_ close, practically trembling, and Red Robin didn’t want him coming until Conner was inside them.

“Yes, but you like that I can take it.”

“ _Would you two just…_ ” Tim shifted, rolling his shoulders impatiently back into Red Robin’s leather grip, empty and frustrated, “ _concentrate here?_ ” At his interruption, Red Robin’s attention shifted introspectively for a minute, regarding his vessel’s predicament fondly. With a thoughtful hum, the Persona ran his wet fingers up Tim’s taut thigh. Not what he wanted, but Tim shivered at the cold caress anyway.

“Tim’s impatient.”

“Just a few more seconds. A masterpiece like this has to be properly appreciated.” Conner tilted his head in exaggerated admiration, trying to see everything.

“Conner…”

"Right.” Conner sobered, hand hesitating where it rested on his thigh, like he really wanted to explore all that skin but wasn't sure it had been willingly presented him. “Not that I don’t appreciate this, Red, but I need to talk to Tim for a moment."

"He's all yours."

Then Red Robin pulled back a little, leaving Tim blinking up at him breathlessly.

"Care to explain this one?" Conner's hand squeezed his bare thigh a little, large and warm against pale skin, and Tim shifted into it restlessly like he really wanted it to move, to touch him properly.

"Red Robin's a jerk," Tim huffed.

"Getting that." There was a grin on his face that said he loved it anyway though. "Is this what you wanted?"

"No. Yes." Tim squirmed, trying to will that hand to move. Conner only raised an eyebrow at him, and Tim wet his lips, words rushed. "It's not the way I would have preferred to extend the invitation, but it's there. Touch me?"

"That's what I needed to hear." Conner grinned, leaning down between the raised V of his legs to press a quick, sloppy kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Hold on, Tim.” Tim’s frustrated growl said that was a lot to ask right just then.

Red Robin took it literally though, black-gloved hand reaching up to tangle in Conner’s hair and hold him there, crushing their mouths together for Tim’s benefit. Conner made a half-surprised, half-hungry noise, nearly overbalancing as Red Robin forced him to take most of his own weight onto his arms. Tim took the opportunity for what it was, kissing him roughly, demandingly, tongue pushing into Conner’s willing mouth. Conner tried to balance one-handed while he fumbled blindly with the other to undo the button and zipper on his pants. Finally, he worked out a way to shove his jeans and boxers down blindly and one handed, and he really deserved points for that.

Red Robin’s grip eased up then, letting Conner pull back for a second and suck in much needed air. Just a second. Enough time to take in all the exposed skin presented him, what wasn’t already taken by leather.  Then he was leaning back in, both hands down this time to lower himself carefully between the V of Tim’s legs, appreciating all that skin with flicks of his tongue.

Tim tipped his head back so Conner could access the soft hollow of his throat, sucking warm kisses into it. A little line of them, straight as an arrow into the juncture of his collarbone. Each one was a little harder, a little more demanding. Tim practically begged for it, pushing into the kisses, until the last Conner sucked hard in place the longest of all, worrying beautiful skin between his teeth. It left a red mark when he let go that he kissed a second time, flicking his tongue over the abused flesh.

"Is this how you always go about getting off?” Conner asked, breath fanning against wet skin. “Contortionism and bondage?"

"No!" Tim choked.

“But you _do_ get off on it.” He laved a wet trail between the stripes Red Robin had claimed across Tim’s lean chest, never quite touching the leather. “All that leather pressed against your skin all night, holding you tight. Can you even move without Red Robin’s permission?” Conner’s tongue found one of the nipples Red Robin had thoughtfully left exposed, licking a long, slow line over it, and Tim tried to arch into the warm, wet press of his mouth appreciatively. “I bet you have all kinds of leather bondage kinks.” One more long stroke, drawing the nipple pert, then his mouth closed over it, sucking, teeth gentle. And oh, the sweet little gasps he got for that, especially when he bit down a little.

“I’m sure Red Robin thought”—a gasp—“I’d try to get out of it if I wasn’t tied down thoroughly.”

“Uh-huh.” Conner raised an eyebrow doubtfully. Maybe that was part of the truth, but he could feel Tim’s erection—painfully hard even before he’d entered the room—pressed needily against his abs. He spared a hand to reach down and stroke it once for emphasis, making slim hips jerk beneath him. “ _Kinks_.”

Tim’s own eyebrow twitched, and Conner really wanted to know what Red Robin had just said.

“Maybe a few,” Tim hedged.

Conner’s mouth closed over the other nipple rewardingly for the confession, sucking harder at the flesh—as though he could pull the whole truth right out of his boyfriend—until it was pert beneath his tongue.

“It’s just… Night after night, unable to ever make a mistake— _nng_ , Conner!—the pressure of expectation from Batman and my parents. The _school_.” His lips parted breathlessly at the sting of teeth. “Sometimes it’s nice to have everything taken out of my hands and have to accept something I can’t control.”

“So you do love it.” Conner grinned triumphantly. With one last appreciative lick to the nipple, he deemed it appropriately mauled and sat back, smug. “If you wanted to be tied up, you just had to ask.” His thumb brushed Tim’s sac before something else caught his attention. The way Red Robin’s skin faded into Tim’s…

He leaned in, biting roughly at the black leather covering Tim’s inner thigh, and Red Robin’s appreciative hiss escaped bruised lips overtop Tim’s own. Satisfied with that response, Conner curled a hand against the leather swath along the outside of Tim’s hip, digging nails sharply into the muscles beneath.

“It might be more the vulnerability than being tied down,” Tim replied, and Conner hummed into leather-clad skin.

Tim was used to fighting people twice his strength and size, people who could break him with a thought if they caught him. What must it feel like to be completely at the mercy of someone else’s whims?

He took several minutes to stroke the strange lines where leather faded into flesh, seeming to seep under Tim’s skin. Shifting lines that would sometimes constrict around Tim’s thighs when touched right. He probably shouldn’t have been so turned on by that. His fingers mapped one such line down Tim’s skin, digging blunted nails in hard but dragging them down slowly, promisingly, until he came to the junction between Tim’s legs. He ran a finger up the cleft there, brushing over the desperate little pucker of Tim’s hole, eyes flicking to gage his boyfriend’s reaction. Tim’s head was tossed back again, eyes half lidded and mouth parted in pleasure.

Conner stroked back down, pausing to circle Tim’s slick hole purposefully, light and teasing, surprised to find it wet.

“You’re lubed?” He glanced up at Tim’s bound limbs curiously. “How did you even…?” Red Robin held out his hand, palm up so Conner could blink in astonishment at the little bottle that coalesced out of nowhere against the black glove.

“I can materialize anything from my bandoliers or utility belt at will,” Red Robin explained, wetting dry lips. “Other things not so easily.”

“You have got to teach me that!” Conner exclaimed, staring wide-eyed as the bottle vanished again, but Red Robin’s smirk was already stealing over Tim’s mouth.

“Tim’s special.” The Persona’s hand dropped to curl around Tim’s penis, thumb stroking possessively. “It won’t be so easy for you.”

“Why not?”

“You have different—mm!” Red Robin’s hand squeezed. “Strengths.”

“You mean I _have_ strength,” Conner replied, grinning wolfishly, because he’d only recently found out a part of him was invulnerable, of course—a part of him that had been tactfully quiet other than a single, “Holy S-Shield!” when they’d walked in the door—and he was still impossibly smug about it.

Neither Tim nor Red Robin bothered responding to that, which might have had more to do with the fact that Conner had replaced the teasing touch of fingers at Tim’s anus with a single, broader thumb rubbing firm circles around his rim. It was just firm enough that it threatened to slip inside midway through every stroke. Tim could feel himself start to open, feel his body welcome the intrusion, just to have it pulled back at the last second on each pass.

He squirmed in place, trying to get Red Robin’s hand to stroke harder, trying to get Conner’s thumb to breach muscle just a hairsbreadth deeper. The amused chuckle in his own head told him he’d get no help from that direction. Red Robin wasn’t about to let him out of this anytime soon.

“ _How do you ask?_ ” the Persona asked silkily, _knowingly_.

Tim’s teeth clicked closed against any words he might even think of saying, and was left to twitch for another minute every time the Persona’s curled hand brushed the head of his penis, every time Conner’s thumb stroked particularly deep, always a hair from opening him.

“Mm, you’re so pretty when you’re desperate,” Conner murmured.

“I hate you _both_ ,” Tim seethed between clenched teeth.

“ _You love us_ ,” Red Robin replied. “ _You love everything we do to you_.”

“All flushed and undone,” Conner continued, outright ignoring any vehement denials, tongue licking a stripe up Tim’s taut thigh encouragingly. It was wet and tickled and made his toes dig into the headboard. “Absolutely gorgeous.” Conner wasn’t done with him, laving repeatedly at the sensitive hollow beneath his knee, bared by the open, stretched position of his legs. Tim had clenched his teeth closed to trap the half-laugh, half-moan in his throat, head thrown back into the pillow. “I could watch you like this forever.”

“Please don’t,” he huffed, and Conner’s breath tickled his inner thigh as the other boy chuckled.

“If you say so.” Finally, _finally_ Conner’s thumb pushed into him—a slow, shallow breach just to the first knuckle, in and out and in again. Tim groaned at the sensation of being partially filled again, even if it still wasn’t enough. Conner continued to screw him shallowly for a few minutes, tongue laving wet and ticklish against inner thigh muscles, dragging across skin and leather alternately. There was leather against the sides of Tim’s _face_ , stroking his cheek, bits and pieces of the cowl in his hair.

Conner pressed his thumb all the way in suddenly, holding it in deep for a moment and rubbing up against Tim’s inner muscles. Back and forth. Until Tim was panting again, flushed and nearly trembling.

“Red’s really got you worked up, hm?” Conner asked consideringly. He wiggled two fingers into Tim then, perhaps to test Red Robin’s work or perhaps to more deeply enjoy the warm, wet feel of him or perhaps just to watch Tim’s mouth move in wordless pleasure. It did a good job of the latter. Conner’s strong, callused fingers were entirely different from all the slender, sleek leather of Red Robin’s. They were slightly broader, opening him up a hairsbreadth wider, even just resting there promisingly, and Tim wished they would move.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Conner said, wiggling his fingers teasingly, “to feel you all slick and warm around me, to see the look on your face”—the fingers scissored suddenly—”just like _that_.” Tim was pretty sure the look on his face was stunned bliss.

Somewhere in his head, Red Robin was wallowing in the same sensations as Tim, losing himself in the delicious delirium that was Conner’s fingers stroking him from the inside out. And Conner hadn’t even…

“ _Oh_.” The thought immediately became an exclamation. “ _Oh!_ ” Tim gasped, jerking as his boyfriend’s fingers dug into his prostate, clenching in ecstasy as blunt fingertips dragged heavily across it. Pleasure flooded him, an uncontrollable deluge under his roommate’s ministration, too much at once. Tim was absolutely taut with trying to stem it, to manage it all, but every nerve ending he had was already overloaded with it, and all he could do was hold on and tremble.

“You like that?” Conner’s fingers just kept digging, that annoyingly smug smirk on his face. “Breathe for me.”

“ _The things he’s going to do to us_ …” Red Robin whispered, but Tim could only moan in wordless agreement. Conner had pulled back to look down at him, to take in his little breathy noises, to watch the way he twitched and writhed on his fingers. The expression he wore slid increasingly from smug to hungry with every twitch of Tim’s penis, with every little softly choked whine and flutter of soot-black lashes. Tim had thought Red Robin’s fingers felt good, but Conner had the advantage of being able to get a better angle, and though his fingers weren’t as long, he could push them in deeper, driving them into Tim’s body until his knuckles nearly disappeared.

“Your knuckles,” Tim managed wetly. “More.” He could feel them against his rim, the little bulge of them at the end of each particularly good inward thrust when Conner’s fingers were completely sheathed in yielding flesh. He wanted them deeper still, wanted them more often.

“Knew you’d love me.” Conner curled his fingers in Tim’s hole, rubbing the rounded points of his second knuckles into Tim’s prostate instead. It wasn’t what he’d meant, but it was just as good, and he jerked at the sharp stimulation, shuddering for each hard little nudge. Conner held his fingers in deep, just rocking his knuckles back and forth against it for a full minute, until Tim was panting, heat kindling and sparking under his skin. He’d been turned on for so long now, kept hot inside by first one partner and then another, he just wanted…

Conner’s fingers turned just the slightest bit, still kneading at his inner walls, but not hitting his prostate, leaving him blinking, the building heat ebbing back out of reach. He growled.

“Conner,” he managed between clenched teeth, catching his boyfriend’s gaze meaningfully. “ _Now_.”

“If I’d rather tease you a little more?” Conner asked, glancing bemusedly at the headboard where Tim was still tied tight.

“I don’t need hands to materialize zip ties,” Tim threatened wickedly, _breathlessly_ , “and you don’t want to know where Red Robin thinks they would be most effective.”

“ _You’d still need hands to tighten them_...” Red Robin pointed out.

“ _He doesn’t know that_.”

Conner froze, swallowing nervously as he considered all the possibilities.

“Good point.”

Conner withdrew his fingers, pulling slowly out, hand sliding across Tim’s rear and up along the outside of his thigh, wet fingers digging hard into the leather already covering the skin there—it elicited an agreeable noise from Red Robin. Then he leaned forward, kissing Tim slowly, promisingly, while the silken tip of his penis pressed another kind of promising kiss to his hole. Tim swallowed breathlessly, anticipatorily for it _and_ for the tightening of Red Robin’s leather grip around his thighs, holding him perfectly, _painfully_ still, unable even to twitch towards the sweet pressure against his anus. Unable to take what he wanted for himself. Unfortunately, Conner seemed determined to stall.

“Have you done it like this before?” Conner asked suddenly. “I mean, you must have gotten off with Robin, but…” Tim nearly snorted in his roommate’s face, because it was a little late for this conversation and he really didn’t need the reminder that he’d lost anyone. Red Robin’s grip tightened possessively.

“Not with someone else.” Tim rolled his shoulders, restless and frustrated. “I can take it. Trust me.”

Conner must have believed him, because the sweet, _sweet_ pressure of Conner’s penis pushed a little harder up against the knot of muscle that was his hole. Tim had just long enough to think about how good it would feel inside him, how much he wanted that sweet pressure deeper. Then Conner’s tongue pushed demandingly into his mouth at the same time his penis pushed down against his hole in all the ways he wanted. There was a brief moment of resistance where the tight ring of muscle strained to take the new, larger intrusion. Then Conner was sliding into him, forcing him open, filling him deeper and more fully than ever before. Tim panted, taking it, straining around it. He’d thought the taut pull of his legs had tested his limits, but Conner was still pushing _in_. The tongue in his mouth licked distractingly, coaxing little gasps from him as the inward thrust between his legs slowed to a frustrating crawl the last couple of centimeters.

“Almost there,” Conner murmured into his mouth, unrepentant. Tim could feel the curl of his roommate’s lips where it pressed against his own, how much he was enjoying prolonging this. “Want you to feel everything.” Tim might have bitten him some other time for that, but he was too preoccupied with the penis holding him open, still opening him up farther, millimeter by excruciating millimeter as Conner eased in. A little deeper for each ragged little gasp he pulled out of Tim.

There was sharp stinging at the corners of Tim’s eyes, his chest heaving, by the time the penis was fully sheathed inside him. Conner’s palm cupped his face beside the kiss in understanding.

“Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, Tim.”

It was uncomfortable, taking it all. Almost unbearably tight. But it was a promising kind of hurt, the discomfort just starting to be overridden by the sweet ache of it all inside him.

Tim whined up into Conner’s mouth, around his tongue, to be stretched so wide, abused and beautiful and breathless. _Everywhere_ felt deliciously tight: the clench of his abs, the stretch of his legs, Red Robin’s grasp under his skin, his hole held abusively wide. There wasn’t an inch of him not in use. In comparison to the harrowing girth of its base, the head of Conner’s penis was only a pleasant fullness resting inside him. He clenched down, testing, and Conner chuckled, tongue licking deep inside his mouth one last time.

“I promise you’re going to like how much I fill you up in a minute.” He grinned, three parts devilish and two parts fond, and started to move.

Tim only nodded his acknowledgement, mouth opening in a gutted, “ _Uh!_ ” as Conner started the long drag back out. Not half as slow as before, but still not fast. He could feel Conner’s penis ease out of him, the pressure against his rim ebbing briefly before slowly increasing again, back to that tight ache he was starting to associate with being completely filled.

In his head, Red Robin was a pleasant hiss, made equally giddy on the heat and burn.

“ _You feel amazing like this_.”

“ _Turned on?_ ” Tim asked, practically panted as Conner started to slide back out.

“ _Stuffed full and hot, stretched tight in all the right ways_.” Red Robin’s black-clad fingers snuck into the space between him and Conner, stroking his rim demonstratively, a little half circle where Conner’s penis held him open. Tim shuddered for the cool, smooth leather where he was pulled so taut. Even Conner hissed, teeth clenching at the teasing brush against his penis.

“ _Red_ ,” he moaned, and Red Robin must have liked that response, because he snagged two fingers around Conner’s half-exposed length, ghosting up and down encouragingly. Tim could feel the head of Conner’s penis twitch where it remained buried inside him. He clenched down on it mercilessly, helping Red Robin tease their partner, rewarded with a choking noise.

“Alright! Alright!” Conner finally said, pushing back in more hurriedly. “You two are going to be the death of me!” Tim only hummed in deep-throated pleasure as he was filled again. It didn’t feel like quite so much to handle anymore, the ache around his rim slowly numbing as the sweet pressure built inside him with every drag of Conner’s penis.

He’d thought the fingers had felt good, but it was nothing to the thick penis filling him now, setting all his nerve endings alight. He could feel it hot and thick, deeper than any fingers. The warmth of it filled up his belly, pooling heavy inside him until he was shuddering constantly.

Red Robin reached up, black-gloved hand dragging through Conner’s hair, gripping tight to pull him down between Tim’s spread legs, push Tim’s tongue into his mouth, remind him that use of his vessel would be on his terms. Conner only moaned for it, penis forced down into Tim’s hole and held in deep while Red Robin used him.

“Jeez, Red.” The words were muffled around Red Robin’s tongue in his mouth, leaving off with a moan as Tim clenched down on him tightly. It was worth it just to see Conner’s eyelids droop in bliss, to hear the breathlessness in his voice. “ _Nn_ , Tim, you’re like silk inside.”

The dangerous curve of Red Robin’s vambrace dug a little into Conner’s shoulder when he finally let him up, allowing him to pull out and slam back in, more forceful now. Roughness encouraged by the Persona using his lover’s skin.

Tim drank it in, lost in all the sensations assaulting him.

“ _You’re mine now, Tim_ ,” Red Robin whispered to him, leather sliding over his skin. “ _Robin got to watch you grow up, but you’re mine now. Every beautiful, matured inch of you_.” Tim could feel Red Robin’s little smirk twitch at his own lips. “ _And I intend to take good care of you_.” The caress of leather along his skin pressed against the inside of his thighs, pushing his legs farther open so Conner could access him better, sliding in that millimeter deeper. A burn flared simultaneously along the abused line of his legs already pulled wide and the anal muscles stretched taut to accommodate his partner’s penis.

Tim thought if he had to take much more of Red Robin’s kind of caring he might burn up. There were already flames licking at his edges, ready to consume him.

“ _I’m surprised you—_ hnn _—don’t mind sharing_.” It was hard to spare the attention for conversation. Red Robin’s hand was in the hair by his temple, tugging a little with each of Conner’s thrusts.

“ _How could I mind?_ ” Red Robin asked. “ _I’ve been in your head the entire time, seeing what you see—_ ” There was always something personal about a Persona’s voice, the way it got inside him, but the way Red Robin’s voice dropped to a knowing murmur, making him subconsciously strain to hear, was like silk and seduction inside his skull, so intensely intimate it made him shiver. “— _and you’ve been watching him for awhile_.” Tim’s gaze dropped to Conner, observing the solid lines of their partner’s build from under sex-drugged lashes. The well-defined curves of muscles. The strong hips pumping into him steady and deliberate, just like he’d known they could. “ _You’ve wanted him inside you like this. Filling you up. Using you_.” Tim couldn’t deny it. “ _We could zip tie him. Ride him as long as we want. Only remove it when we’re ready to let him come._ ”

He choked a little at the visual, but he had no words left to respond. Every slow thrust of Conner’s penis along his prostrate sent sheet lightning shivers spreading out under his skin. He clenched down on the headboard where his hand was caught, needing to hold onto _something_ solid.

Then Red Robin’s glove bled in an encouraging caress over the back of the same bound hand, sliding over the swell of his knuckles and pushing between his fingers, forcing them to splay a little across the wooden slats. It felt for all the world like there was another hand there, the Persona’s supportive grip intertwined with his own.

Tim trembled with need, voiceless, unable to push himself over the edge in this position. Wholly dependent on Conner, on the way his penis filled him up in all the right ways, on the way every thrust hit his prostate. Faster now. Harder. He felt like flint struck repeatedly against steel, each strike igniting sparks that hollowed him out a little more inside, licking him clean.

“Come for us, Tim,” Red Robin managed aloud, sounding just as wrecked as Tim felt. He dragged a gloved hand down Tim’s sternum, brushed a nipple with his thumb, and something about the touch—the tiny shock of it against the other stimulation—combined with Conner’s sharp thrust hit him hard.

Then Tim was coming, head thrown back and half caught in Red Robin’s grip, the leather cradling the back of his skull as his orgasm hit him. Every muscle clenched simultaneously, strings pulled tight around Conner’s beautiful penis. He could feel every hard inch of it stuffed inside him, filling him until he could do nothing but overflow.

Conner made a surprised, guttural sound, trembling, and he wasn’t pulling out, but trying to push in farther, riding through Tim’s shudders. His thrusts reduced to quick, short, desperate things afterward, barely pulling out at all, finally holding in tight as he spilled his own orgasm into Tim’s willing body.

Tim felt the warm gush, wet and pleasant inside him, the weight of Conner’s hips still slotted tight against him, keeping them joined. He shuddered, contracting wetly around his partner with aftershocks. Conner grinned at him lopsidedly, head bent as he panted, and Tim thought he’d never looked more beautiful than just then, chest heaving between the open V of his legs.

“Can feel you,” Conner murmured, and reached a hand down to rub at Tim’s ass, which only made Tim shudder again. “Just like that. The warm flutter of your muscles.” Tim snorted.

“You don’t want to know where I can feel you.”

Conner’s grin spread. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” He leaned forward, kissing Tim one last time, before finally pulling out with a groan, eyeing Tim’s bound ankles askance.

“You need help with those?”

“No.” Red Robin vanished the zip ties then, letting Tim’s legs fall back limply to the bed. The leather disappeared too, the Persona murmuring indistinct, content things in the back of Tim’s head. Tim stretched luxuriously, all the way to his toes, working out the stiffness… before bringing his knees up, hooking his legs around Conner’s hips to topple him over. The larger boy gladly tumbled onto the bed beside him with a surprised huff of air.

“How do you still have energy left?” Conner looked at him incredulously. Tim took a moment to grab a Kleenex and wipe the worst of the mess off his front, but didn’t bother doing anything about the pleasant, sloshy feeling in his rear.

“I don’t.” Tim turned over to press himself fondly into Conner’s side, wrapping one leg over his partner’s hip.

Conner growled, maneuvering to pull him up snug against his chest, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist, the other hand cupping the rounded curve of his ass. He could feel Conner’s lazy grin, the hand on his rear squeezing comfortably, fingers sliding absently down his cleft to finger the sloppy, loosened muscle of his hole.

“Love how loose you are after my cock’s been holding you open so long.” Conner had such large fingers, so gentle as first one and then a second fingertip slipped easily inside him. Tim shuddered pleasantly for the stimulation along oversensitized nerves, then shuddered again as seed leaked out around the prodding fingers, uncomfortably sticky. _Conner’s_ seed, he thought, marveling dazedly. It was _Conner’s_ seed wet inside him. He’d let Conner…

Conner rolled onto his back suddenly, pulling Tim up on top of him with the two large fingers still hooked in his hole—a strange, jarring sensation—and the palm supporting his rear. Tim’s legs tightened on either side of his companion’s thighs, and he made a disgruntled sound, not appreciating being dislodged in such a manner. But he settled again once Conner stopped moving, dark head of hair nestled against Conner’s chest. He was warm and limp, drunk with sex. All Conner’s.

Conner’s arms tightened as though he’d had the same thought, fingers curling loosely into Tim’s hole, enjoying the loose squelch of his own seed, the wetness. Tim only made another small, disgruntled sound at his antics, not bothering to move, so Conner didn’t bother to remove his fingers. He scissored them absently, enjoying the aesthetics of soft, wet, inner muscles for a few more minutes. Tim dozed on top of him for half an hour or so, a pleasant warmth, until Conner finally managed to doze off too, one arm still wrapped around his smaller counterpart.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: this is the first time I've ever written smut. EVER. Even though there are other smutty chapters before this, this scene was started first, and I've been ridiculously panicky over it. I finally realized that a large part of my delaying posting was simply due to nervousness (and perfectionism), so it's time to let go. 
> 
> The next chapter is written. It should be out next week (and I will try not to freak out so much over the smut scene in _that_ chapter as well...)


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Misuse of TTK (so much misuse!), also Explicit Sexual Content
> 
>  **And on that note:** What is with TTK use in the new52? Does it even have any limitations? Judging by fanfiction I’ve read, it definitely seems to have limitations _pre_ 52\. For the fun of it, however, I’m using new52, “psionic,” I-apparently-do-whatever-the-author-wants rules. I am done with trying to sort this junk out, let’s just have some fun...

There was a long, black, foreboding envelope in Conner’s bag that evening, the second such correspondence that had mysteriously materialized that week and the latest in a long-standing line of them since he’d become Tim’s roommate nearly a month ago. When he opened it, the angry scrawl inside read, unsurprisingly, "Stay away from Tim Drake."

“ _That’s even less original than the last one_.” Superboy snorted in his head, and if Conner jumped a little, well, the sudden voice still managed to take him by surprise sometimes. “ _You’d think they’d have realized by now we can’t be chased off so easily_.”

“Didn’t they get the hint the first half-a-dozen times?” Conner was one-hundred percent over this kind of junk. At least he had a way of dealing with it quickly and efficiently now.

With an annoyed huff, he flashed the envelope over his shoulder and three girls materialized by his side within seconds. He was never sure where they came from; it was better not to ask questions, he might start looking over his shoulder.

“It’s another one,” he said, dropping the envelope unceremoniously into an eager pair of hands.

“We’ll find the culprit,” a brunette said, chest heaving in vehemence when she saw what it was, and the two girls beside her nodded agreement. “Don’t worry, this one won’t bother you again.”

Apparently manhandling girls onto vending machines had its benefits.

“Anything else?” one of the blondes asked with a little bounce on her toes.

“Yeah, how’s Krypto doing?” The dog had refused to be sent as far away as Smallville, but had ended up claiming the entire dorm as his home instead, with surprisingly enthusiastic support from most of its inhabitants. The girls hardly let him out of their clutches.

“Mindy’s got him tonight.”

“He’s so well behaved!”

“The teachers will never find him.”

“You can have all the time you want with Tim!”

The last was said with a knowing wink and a giggle. Before Conner could protest that that hadn’t been why he wanted to know Krypto’s whereabouts, the girl with the envelope now open in her hands exclaimed, “I knew it!” Immediately the others turned to her, jostling to look over her shoulder and add their own opinions: “I’d recognize that script anywhere,” and “Where’s her last class?” Conner didn’t want to know the details, but if the number of girls going home bald and tear-stained was roughly equivalent to the number of threats he received, he only felt a little guilty.

He watched them go for a moment.

“ _Mm, some of those girls_ …”

“ _Don’t let Red Robin hear you say that_ ,” Conner replied, reaching absently for his backpack.

“ _There’s no competition over Red_ ,” Superboy denied immediately. “ _Have you seen how flexible that_ —”

“Where’s my backpack?” Conner asked, cutting the Persona off when he looked down to find all his stuff gone. He started in a frantic circle, only to stop when he found it clutched in the arms of an absolutely petite blond with huge, blue eyes.

“I could carry this for you,” she suggested breathlessly. It looked like it would knock her over at any minute. Conner had not been raised to let other people carry his bags anyway.

“That’s alright, really. I’d rather…” He reached for it, stalling out when she only clutched it tighter to her chest. “Myself,” he continued eloquently, extended hand still empty. “Yes.”

She beamed up at him hopefully.

Conner’s smile felt frozen in place, totally at a loss. There was no way he was going to start a tug-o-war over his backpack (it was _his_ backpack!) with a wind-blown puff of a girl in the middle of the crowded hall. Right about the time he was trying to decide whether it would be easier to just let her keep it than bully it from her grasp, her eyes caught sight of something over his shoulder and just sort of glazed over dreamily, lips parting in a silent, “Oh.”

"Should I be concerned that you have an entire flock of females at your beck and call?" Tim asked, eyeing the puff of a girl currently fused to Conner’s backpack. She squeaked, eyes huge over the top of the bag, and swayed dangerously. Conner immediately moved to block Tim’s view, holding his hands up.

“This is not what it looks like!”

As if the situation couldn’t get any more awkward, there was a sudden scuffle from behind him, which ended in someone hissing, “Let the man have his bag! How’s he supposed to impress Tim if you’re carrying it?!”

“Wait, is that club still bothering you?” Tim asked, on tippy toes glancing over his shoulder. “The student body secretary keeps deflecting my complaints, but I could always go straight to the president…”

“ _Tim_ ,” he interrupted, “I can handle a few girls.” He mostly had them wrapped around his finger now anyway. Vending machines. Who knew.

Somehow, by that point, his backpack had ended up on the floor at his feet. He left it there in favor of sliding an arm around his boyfriend’s waist instead and pulling him close. Tim’s attention immediately refocused on him, face tilting upward to regard him knowingly.

“As long as they’re not bothering you.”

“They’re fine.” He took a minute to just enjoy the feel of Tim pressed up against him. There was still a part of him that always thrilled to find he could touch Tim now, that he could just lean forward, lips parted, and... There was a quickly shushed cheer from somewhere behind them, and Tim pulled back with a frown, attention diverted, trying to twist around again and see. Conner groaned and leaned down to nibble at Tim’s ear instead, distracting him. It was impossible to force Tim away from anything that had caught his interest, he’d fight every time, but he could be persuaded to focus on something else with the right argument. Or the right technique.

Conner flicked the tip of his tongue over the inner ridge of Tim’s ear, satisfied when Tim squirmed, fingers curled into his shirt for purchase, soft lips finally turning to meet his. This time, when there was a much louder chorus of cheers behind them, Tim only moaned agreeably into Conner’s mouth, preoccupied. And that was much better. So much better. His own arms tightened around Tim’s waist.

He could deal with hordes of overenthusiastic hormonal teenagers if it meant keeping Tim.

* * *

Robin floated, soft and soundless. He’d been lost for a long time, broken and adrift in an endless expanse of human desires, his anchor to the physical world ripped away. The damage had been extensive. When he’d finally gained enough strength to return, it was to find his place filled. It had been expected, but still… At least he knew Tim was safe.

Wishes winked in and out of existence around him, some as strong as solar flares, some as soft as fireflies, breaking into wisps at a thought. A few were constant, like himself, the desire for them unwavering.

It was a world a-hum with voices: whispered desires for power, pleas for leniency, fervent decrees of loyalty. A lulling background cadence that occasionally lurched into stark terror with no warning.

It was the one beside him now that had drawn his interest so far away from the voices of his home. He’d searched a long time for it.

“ _I’ll_ make _you look at me, Mother! I’m all you need!_ ” The voice was young, imperious, rude, but all Robin heard was, “ _Love me!_ ” He’d been listening for a while. Underneath the prickly exterior, there was a well of determination, of courage and strength. Attributes that Robin approved of.

This one. It was time to stop deliberating. He settled on the boy, sinking into the familiar sensations of color and noise, the weight of clothes. He got a fleeting impression of pretty, bronzed skin, then the boy jerked to his feet, toppling his chair with a gasp.

“Who are you? Identify yourself!” The voice was authoritative for being so young. He couldn’t see the boy yet—there were no mirrors—but he could see parts of the room. A writing desk, sketches, paper.

“ _You can feel me?_ ” he asked, surprised. None of the others had noticed, not until he’d talked to them.

“Identify yourself or remove your useless presence from my body.”

Robin had been hoping to get the boy back to Batman, safe ground, before introducing himself. Not that it had any calming effect on his previous vessels, but Bruce could usually at least help him talk them down. But this boy had already noticed him somehow, and it was too late now to wait, to gauge possible reactions. He steeled himself.

“I’m Robin.”

* * *

_A ridiculous amount of time later…_

Superboy took a moment to just admire the striking image Red Robin made against the veins of light keeping the city aglow beneath his feet. The overcast night sky stretched above them, its ravenous darkness just barely held at bay. It was another world on the rooftops: a meeting place between the electrical hiss of light and the inky nightscape. Red Robin had one foot on the edge, poised, listening, capable of shifting instantaneously into that pain-promising blur of motion that always made Superboy’s mouth water. That always made him want to pin all that danger-given-flesh down and make it submit.

He looked dangerous. He looked _delectable_.

The tight curves of Tim’s body helpfully outlined by colorful leather certainly didn’t dampen his desire—he’d seen how pliable that body was, watched it twist beneath Conner’s guiding hand, lithe and soft. The stern, downward turn to which Red Robin perpetually set Tim’s mouth was lamentable, but still beautiful.

Conner was definitely at fault for this one. He loved Tim. So how could Superboy not love everything about him too? Including his stubborn, broody Persona.

He’d been wanting to wipe that too-serious look off Red Robin’s face for awhile now. Tonight it was quiet, the darker vigilante on some sort of routine patrol, nothing pressing.

It was perfect.

Superboy dropped down behind the other Persona, hands gripping Red Robin’s biceps. He was only a little disappointed when the muscles beneath his palms didn’t so much as tense. Red Robin always seemed to know he was around.

“Superboy,” Red Robin acknowledged, looking back at him, head tilted as if to ask, “Does Conner know you’re out?” His mouth turned farther down if that were possible, disapproving of the manhandling, but otherwise ignoring the grip on his arms, perhaps dismissing it as Superboy’s usual tomfoolery.

He was going to regret that.

The hold was unnecessary, but he was pretty sure Red Robin was going to appreciate the grounding nature of it in a second.

His grip firmed on the other’s arms, keeping him from startling badly when he sunk his TTK into that beautiful body. Red Robin still jerked hard, arching backward, head knocking back against Superboy’s shoulder with a gasp.

“ _Superboy!_ ” It was a half reprimand, half gasp torn from those stern lips when Superboy’s TTK found and started squeezing his prostate. His mouth fell open around a sob, and he physically tried to climb his way out of Superboy’s grip. Superboy wouldn’t allow that though, using his hold to pull the other Persona snugly back against his body and wait for him to stop stiffening up enough to settle into this new sensation—the milking of one of his pleasure centers.

“Tell me no,” he whispered silkily into Red Robin’s temple, unrelenting. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” He knew from interactions with Tim that the two of them weren’t the kind to hold back their opinion. They’d let him know if he pushed them too far, taking their objections out on his face if they had to.

Red Robin only choked, hard almost instantly under the assault, and it was definitely a pleasure to see him so wordless and worked up for once. Not that he was especially vocal on the best of days, but even his silences were usually weighty and intentional, if not outright fierce. Not this lovely inarticulateness.

He was going to have to do this more often.

“If you,” Red Robin finally managed to growl, breathless, “mess Tim up, I will personally end any chance you have of procreating.” Not completely wordless then. He was going to have to work harder.

Superboy smirked against Red Robin’s temple and focused, running his TTK up under all that leather, tendrils licking up Red Robin’s back and tugging at his cowl, asking permission. It was one thing to mess with the other Persona a little, but it was definitely crossing boundaries to pull him off Tim without consent. Red Robin only pushed impatiently into it though, letting the invisible force tug his cowl off.

Superboy immediately pressed his face to sweaty, matted hair and breathed him in. He was mostly certain Red Robin didn’t exact any physical change on his vessel, but Superboy would have sworn Tim’s eyes were icier when Red Robin was in charge. Cold, crystal blue. Fierce eyes currently clouded with desire. He was beautiful like this.

Superboy let his TTK envelope the body in his arms, let it lift strands of black hair and brush pale cheeks before sinking back beneath leather and armor to stroke that nice, hard penis. At the same time he changed the intermittent grip he’d been maintaining on Red Robin’s prostate to a nice rhythm, slow and inescapable, squeezing gently. And now he could see the way those eyes rolled up in pleasure. Red Robin might have been tough as nails, but he was also human.

“I see you’re”—a gasp, hips hitching helplessly—“putting your lessons to good use.” They’d made him practice on human anatomy for weeks after the near debacle with Lance: how to find this organ or that gland. How to shut a human body down without ever touching it. How to keep a human alive. Tim had knee-jerk kicked him in the face the first time he’d wandered a little south from his lesson. The other boy hadn’t believed for a second that it was an accident and only made him try again. Still, it had been worth every minute of the lectures to have Tim sprawled out beneath him every night, bared for his perusal. He practically had the body shuddering in his hold memorized, inside and out. He had _Red Robin_ memorized.

Making it all the easier to strip away the steely cool demeanor that had been annoying him all week.

“You keep going on about direct pressure.” He took a minute to firmly massage the organ in his telekinetic hold. “Is this direct enough for you?”

Red Robin only sobbed under the stimulation, beautifully undone, hips jerking in Superboy’s grip. He shivered, a full bodied, continuous shiver, unable to escape the sharp pulse of pleasure stemming from his pelvis.

Soft black hair tickled Superboy’s nose. Starlight and sweat. All the things he associated with this lover. He flooded the body in his grip with pleasure and watched it fall apart.

“I’ve been wanting to get you like this for awhile.” He could feel the way Red Robin’s muscles moved, the way he clenched emptily, needily. He really wanted to be inside that sweet body just then, to feel that warm flutter against his own hard penis. Thoughtfully he used his TTK to fill the other Persona’s hole up; let him clench on _that_ for awhile. “I think I’m getting good at multitasking. What do you think?” Red Robin choked a little, a soft sound, one hand darting back to grip Superboy’s hip, seeking purchase.

Superboy licked the outer ridge of Red Robin’s ear, one long, wet stroke, tasting the body in his arms. It tasted like Tim, of course, like Conner’s lover, except with a stronger tang of leather and city grit, a scent he already associated with sleepless nights and soft skin curled close. And running headlong into danger. His grip tightened protectively. The little circle of humans he needed to protect intimately was growing—even if Tim would definitely kick his ass for even thinking he needed protecting. Thank heavens he could keep the most important one—Conner—safe without a fuss.

He licked that beautiful body again, needing to taste what he could already smell (musk and sweat and the lingering aroma of some plain bar soap) and see (eyelashes black as midnight fluttering in rapture against pale skin, throat working wetly) and hear (sweet little noises of pleasure). His penis throbbed painfully in his pants, and he spared a minute to unzip himself and free it, pushing Red Robin’s cape aside to rub it against that leather-clad rear where the Persona pressed up against him. At the same time, he increased the diameter of his TTK in Red Robin’s hole and pushed it deeper.

“Superboy!” Red Robin’s hips jerked.

“I knew I could get you screaming my name.”

Somehow, despite all the compelling distractions, Red Robin managed a breathless snort. Then something hooked behind Superboy’s knees and jerked his legs out from under him. Belatedly he realized he’d been spreading his focus too thinly, dividing it up on too many places. Too focused _inside_ that dangerous body to pay enough attention outside. He ended up on his butt on the roof for it, the threads of his TTK unraveling, blinking in surprise. He’d managed to take Red Robin with him though, keeping his grip on the slender body. Which lasted right up until Red Robin swung his leg up and over, twisting about face, thighs tightening around his waist and carrying him _down_.

And now he was looking up at the sky, Red Robin staring down at him.

 _Not_ the way he’d seen this going.

Still, it wasn’t half-bad either. Red Robin’s thighs were still warm and tight on either side of his waist, keeping the body he wanted pressed wanton and panting against him. If he wanted to pursue Red Robin, he was just going to have to expect it to be difficult, filled with surprising twists.

Then that pretty mouth was on his, kissing him sloppily, _sharply_ , finally biting down hard. Red Robin didn’t do anything nicely. Superboy thought he might be a little in love.

His hands found Red Robin’s waist, squeezing.

“Are you going to wear this while I get you off?” he asked, thumbs rubbing blind circles against the edge of that armored groin.

“Who says you’re going to be getting me anywhere?” Red Robin’s tongue laved a wet line down his throat, teeth clamping down on invulnerable skin, gloved hands clenching in his hair. Too bad the utility belt was really starting to dig in.

“Let me see,” he asked, quieter.

This time Red Robin leaned back, vanishing the armor and leather shielding his groin, freeing his penis to lie hot and heavy against his partner’s abs, and just breathed for a minute with the relief. Superboy took the same moment to admire the sight presented him, finally giving in and touching. Just a single finger brushed the wet slit, but Red Robin’s penis twitched hard, its owner hissing, fingers digging in all along Superboy’s ribs. He really liked that reaction and reached for more, hand engulfing the hard length of it, massaging while Red Robin shivered, eyes hazy.

Eventually the utility belt and bandoliers followed the same fate as the armor and he rubbed against Superboy wantonly, all slick leather and hot skin, rucking up the S-shield shirt. Without all the gear in the way, Superboy could really see all the contours of that sweet body as it bent over him. The hand not occupied with that lovely penis automatically slid up to touch, to rub up and down that chest, over sternum and abs and all the well-defined red leather that told him exactly who he was dealing with. Not that he needed any confirmation. He could practically tell them apart naked now (an ability he’d picked up defensively, since they liked to switch on him). Red Robin always took deeper breaths, always more tactile, subconsciously seeking more sensory input. Tim was pure function and aesthetics.

And if Tim disapproved, Red Robin would be giving him an earful right now.

He knew exactly which one he had in his arms.

His hand ended up splayed over Red Robin’s pelvis, where he immediately sunk his TTK in and restarted up on that prostate. Red Robin made a broken little noise, back arching involuntarily. At the same time, his fingers dug into Superboy’s sides, a near dozen little tactile points anchoring him to earth. He pressed into Superboy’s hand, seeking more pressure, and Superboy helpfully obliged, stroking his thumb over the point where his telekinesis was working the Persona inside that soft, yielding body.

He could do this forever. Watch Red Robin trembling, fit to fall apart. Listen to the wet, needy noises he was making in his throat.

“You make the most beautiful sounds when you’re being used.”

“I’m going to orgasm if you keep that up,” Red Robin warned. He was so close. Too close.

“I’d rather keep you a hot mess a little longer if you don’t mind.” Superboy’s grip tightened reassuringly on that fine penis. Then he let his TTK slip down the slit, easing it into Red Robin’s urethra. Just the tiniest bit, fine as Ma’s knitting needles. Finer. So gentle. He had to be _so_ gentle with Red Robin’s body. It was ridiculously human, nothing to protect it.

He watched his partner carefully the entire time for signs that he’d gone too far, but Red Robin’s fingers only clenched down in a way that would have left marks on anyone else, hips stuttering as invisible TTK inched deeper inside his penis. He was panting by the time it stopped just shy of his base, slumped forward. Shuddering all over. Penis flushed, full and beautiful.

Superboy stroked it gently and listened to his partner cry his name. A second stroke and Red Robin just sort of slowly bowed over, head beneath his chin, mouth pressing against Superboy’s collarbone so he could feel each muffled cry. His hand was trapped now, caught between them, but he didn’t let go, just squeezed gently instead. With his other hand, he reached up to run strong fingers through the black hair tickling his chin.

After a minute of it, Red Robin reached back, fingers sliding against the leather cleft of his own rear, pushing purposefully downward. Last Superboy had checked, it was solid leather back there—pleasantly molded to that shapely rear, but definitely solid. Something must have changed, because he could feel the pleased sigh as Red Robin’s gloved fingers sank into his own body. The series of little slick noises told him the other Persona had materialized some kind of lube, and he was going to have to thank Tim profusely sometime for having learned that one.

He gave Red Robin all of thirty seconds before pulling his fingers out impatiently.

“That’s mine.”

The teeth against his collarbone told him no, it wasn’t, but ultimately Red Robin let it slide as TTK pushed back into his hole. Superboy had to let go of his hold on his partner’s prostate, unable to divide his focus so many times over, but it was a necessary sacrifice. He filled up that sweet ass instead, rewarded by the wet clench of muscle constricting in pleasure. From there it was just a matter of getting back to reaming him, working his hole larger. And now Red Robin was rocking back into it, even as the TTK in his ass continued to open him up, increasing in diameter millimeter by millimeter.

“Feels like,” his hips hitched particularly hard, and his breaths fanned for a moment against invulnerable skin, “fire. Tongues of it inside.” Superboy loved the things Red Robin did to Tim’s voice. The way it turned to velvet when all the sternness stripped away.

“Red, I could watch you like this all night, just open you up until you’re sobbing for it.” Then Superboy increased the diameter of his TTK another notch, forcing that tight sphincter yet wider, and Red Robin’s teeth sank into his collarbone for real, clenching down with a muffled, “ _Hnn!_ ” But before his lover could fully adjust to the new bulk, Superboy increased the TTK in Red Robin’s penis as well, twisting it, rewarded by the surprised jerk, the sudden shout, open mouthed and honest. “Just like that.” His fingers fisted in disheveled black hair, keeping Red Robin from jerking out of his hold. He dragged him up instead for a thorough, messy kiss, the usually fierce Persona surprisingly pliant. Black-gloved hands kneaded at his shirt, tactile and desperate.

Still, it was Red Robin who pulled away first, sitting up as his sleek rear aligned over Superboy’s erect penis. Superboy had just enough time to figure out his intention. Hurriedly he flared his TTK against Red Robin’s rim, holding him open wide just in time for his own penis to fit snugly up inside before letting go of that thread of TTK. His teeth clicked together as he was enveloped in his lover’s soft, hot ass, fingers scrabbling briefly against leather. It was wonderful. Especially when Red Robin shuddered, muscles fluttering around him.

“Jeez, Red!” He arched a little off the roof for it, lifting his lover a few inches. Red Robin’s knees only tightened around his waist, keeping himself firmly seated.

“You felt a little left out,” he replied mischievously, rocking a little. And that… No. Superboy wanted to watch him a little longer, wanted to see him like this with his guard down (such a rare opportunity), feel every tendon in that lovely body straining for him, feel that slick, soft ass clench down on him.

He squeezed Red Robin’s penis, where it was still clasped carefully in his hand—a warning—and waited for the Persona to still with a shudder. Superboy took a moment to just admire the penis resting gently in his palm. The way it laid hot and heavy, hard from so much use, slit visibly held open. Then he slowly retracted the TTK filling it, sliding it out an inch or so and pushing it back in, hand stroking loosely in the opposite direction. Red Robin physically jerked, another choked cry catching his throat. He really did make the best little noises. Especially when Superboy started pumping the telekinetic sound in and out—such careful strokes—keeping tandem with a renewed, rhythmic constriction of his prostate. It didn’t take more than a minute to get him keening, teeth trying to cut off the noise.

Red Robin was practically coming apart on top of him now, trembling and sobbing from so much stimulation, control neatly stripped away. Superboy’s own cock twitched deep in Red Robin’s ass as warm, wet muscles continuously contracted around him, twisting with every little jerk of fine-boned hips.

He was thoroughly convinced that Red Robin had the sweetest ass. It was agony to keep from thrusting. But if he lost himself to the slick, wet slide of pleasure, it would be hard to concentrate, and all his carefully focused TTK would come undone. He could be a gentleman. He could! And right now it was about his partner, about making sure he wanted to repeat this experience as often as possible.

Red Robin was making little distressed sounds between sobs now. It had to hurt a bit, his leaking penis over sensitized by the sweet throb of TTK inside. Keeping him from coming.

He was _so_ close.

“Come on, Red. Show me how you fall apart.” Superboy released the thread of TTK inside Red Robin’s flushed penis, and clenched down on his prostate instead.

Red Robin shouted out, entire body writhing under the sweet, unrelenting pleasure, ass clenching, begging for Superboy’s seed. Then he was coming against Conner’s abs, shuddering all over. Superboy helpfully worked him through it, stroking his penis, milking his prostate with firm, gentle squeezes. He made the prettiest little sounds.

When he was slumped limply in Superboy’s grip, sweaty and thoroughly wrecked, only then did Superboy give in. He thrust up into that wet, willing, wonderful body, Red Robin’s oversensitized ass constricting helpfully with aftershocks. Once. Twice. Then he was holding in, releasing deep inside his companion. His head arched back in bliss, eyes tracing the patterns of distant searchlights across the overcast sky.

He was brought back to Earth by Red Robin’s butterfly kisses against his jaw, finer than sunlight. At some point Red Robin had pulled off him, his suit back in one piece, recovering his hole and groin.

“You do aftercare too?” Superboy smirked up at him lazily, hand reaching back to massage that fine rear, delighted to see his seed would be trapped inside all night. “I might have to keep you…” Red Robin bit him for his presumptuousness, but Superboy only chuckled, squeezing harder.

“If you got what you came for…” Red Robin swung his leg over and stood up, all business again as he headed to the edge of the roof. It was an absolute shame the cape kept him from watching those hips sway.

“You’re leaving?”

“I have to get back to patrol. You?” As much fun as it would be to watch him work…

“I’m more of a daylight kind of guy.”

“Mm.” Red Robin’s head tilted, listening. Probably not to Superboy. “So you only moonlight when you want to get laid?”

“I really intended to do the laying…”

Whatever he’d been listening for, he found it, because his head swiveled out toward the city, body tensing, ready to spring.

“Wait!”

Red Robin looked back at him, and Superboy took a fleeting second to admire him in work-mode, because they were always powerful figures, but when someone else’s life was on the line? That’s when they came alive.

“Go kick ass.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I would have loved to write the scene where Tim meets Robin again, that’s actually not a happy scene (a whole spleen gets lost! Plus there’s a lot of blood, angst, and protective boyfriend-ing) and it sparks an entire sequence of events that I quickly realized was its own story. 
> 
> A huge thank you to All Seer for beta-ing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [there is no difference between a wish and a curse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718244) by [masamune11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11)




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